SALOME. 


SALOME. 


A  DRAMATIC  POEM. 


J.   C.   HEYWOOD. 


NEW   YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  KURD  AND   HOUGHTON, 

459  BROOME  STREET. 
1867. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 
J.  C.  HEYWOOD, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


RIVERSIDE,   CAMBRIDGE  : 

STEREOTYPED    AND    PRINTED    BY 
H.   0.  HOUGHTON  AND  COMPANY. 


"I  shall  therefore  speak  my  mind  here  at  once  briefly:  That 
neither  did  any  other  city  ever  suffer  such  miseries,  nor  any  aye 
ever  breed  a  generation  more  fruitful  in  wickedness  than  this  was, 
from  the  beginning  of  the  world." 

FLAVIUS  JOSEPHUS. 


SALOME. 

A    Chamber  in  Jerusalem. 
CHORUS  OF  CHRISTIANS. 


WHAT  should  it  mean  ? 

The  Dweller  in  the  holy  place, 
The  Cherubim  between, 

Hath  turned  away  His  face. 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long? 

Shall  wrath  abide  forever  ? 
And  awful  darkness  of  Thy  frowrn, 
To  nether  darkness  pressing  down, 

Be  lifted  never  ? 

O  Lord,  how  long? 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long? 

In  mercy  wield   Thy  power. 
Oh  save  us  with  Thine  outstretched  hand, 
Keep  in  its  hollow  still  this  band, 


8  SALOME. 

Through  this  dread  hour. 

O 

O  Lord,  how  long  ? 

Enter  SALOME  and  THONA. 

SALOME. 
Why  tremble   ye,  my    friends  ?     What  terrors 

new 

Have  overcome  your  faith  ?     He  is  with  you 
Who  said,  all-powerful  still  His  to  defend, 
Lo  !  I  am  with  you  even  to  the  end. 


What !  heard  ye  not  the  tale  ? 

They  whisper  it  with  bated  breath, 
With  staring  eyes,  and  visage  pale, 

As  fearful  men  appointed  unto  death. 


Dread  harbingers  descend,  portents  appear, 
But  fear  not  ye,  our  Guardian  is  near. 


They  came,  they  came  all  solemnly  and  slow, 

From  trembling  tombs, 

In  silent  woe, 

The  shades  of  priests  long  dead, 

And  shuddering  glooms 


SALOME. 

Of  midnight  grew  more  dark  and  dread. 

With  noiseless  tread, 

In  semblances  of  priestly  vestments  clad, 

With  supplicating  look, 

Beseeching,  outstretched  hands  that  shook, 

And  faces  pale  and  sad, 

They  took 

The  way  unto  the  Temple's  Eastern  gate, 

In  show  of  consecrated  state. 

While  on  the  hills  around, 

The  tribes  from  opening  graves, 

From  yawning  burial  caves, 

Without  or  voice  or  sound, 

Gathered  themselves  in  hosts, 

Gazing,  pallid  ghosts. 

The  Temple's  Eastern  gate, 

Whose  ponderous  weight 

The  strength  of  twenty  men  can  scarce  unfold, 

Untouched  upon  its  hinges  rolled. 

And,  through  its  port, 

On,  on  into  the  inner  court, 

The  dread  procession  went, 

With  heads  low  bent. 

From  every  hill, 

The  gathered  hosts 

Of  ghosts 

Gazed  still. 

Then  from  the  Holy  Place 


10  SALOME. 

About  the  altar  shone  a  light, 

So  bright 

No  mortal  face 

Coxild  stand  before  it. 

The  hosts 

Of  gathered  ghosts 

Bow  and  adore  it. 

Then  o'er  the  Temple  came 

Darkness,  dread  and  black. 

Around  it  myriad  forms  of  flame 

Moved  with  a  fiery  track. 

To  its  unfolding  bosom  passed  the  Light, 

And  rose  from  sight 

Into  the  heavens,  which  seemed  to  roll 

In  terror  backwards  on  the  pole. 

And  then  was  heard, 

Like  thunder  roaring  through  the  sky, 

A  deep  and  awful  cry, 

Speaking  this  word  : 

Come  out  from  her,  and  be  ye  separate. 

And,  when  this  voice  had  cried, 

Out-rolling  from  the  Eastern  gate 

Another  voice  replied, 

A  cry,  such  as,  till  then,  man   never  heard, 

Speaking  this  word : 

Let  us  go  hence. 

And  thence 

The  phantom  throng 


SALOME.  11 

Turned  in  flight  headlong, 

Rushing  to  their  graves,  therein  to  hide 

From  coming  terrors  they  could  not  abide. 


Thy  keeper,  Judah,  hath  abandoned  thee, 

And  summoned  all  His  faithful  ones  to  flee. 

Yet  greater  wrath  is  coming,  and  to-night 

May  overthrow  this  nation,  in  His  sight 

A  barren  tree  encumbering  the  ground, 

On  which,   these   many   years,    naught  good  is 

found. 

Accursed  it  falls,  the  solid  earth  upheaves 
With  its  bent  roots,  and  scatters  poisonous  leaves. 

CHORUS. 

Wail  !  Israel,  wrail  ! 

Through  all  the  scattered  lands 

Where  now  ye  rove, 

O'er  burning  sands, 

In  pestilential  grove, 

Or  snowy  regions  pale. 

Wail  !  Israel,  wail  ! 

Not  for  the  unnumbered  woes 

Ye  suffer  there, 

But  for  the  woe  that  goes 

O 

Into  the  House  of  Prayer 
Where  prayers  no  more  avail. 


12  SALOME. 

Wail !  Israel,  wail ! 

Not  that  your  name  is  lost, 

Not  that,  as  broken  pieces  of  a  wreck  are  tossed, 

The  storms  and  billows  drive  you  on  their  way 

To  where  no  day 

Invites  a  venturous  sail. 

Wail !  Israel,  wail ! 

Not  that  the  winds  of  heaven 

Can  find  you  not,  nor  yet  the  stars  of  even  ; 

But  for  Jerusalem  bereft  of  God, 

Her  children  perishing  beneath  the  rod  : 

Wail !  Israel,  wail ! 

SALOME. 

Yea,  well  may  agonizing  Israel  say, 
Alas  !  for  ivoful  Judali,  cast  away  ! 
Lament  ye,  too,  for  us  ;  pray,  lest  we  faint, 
By  miseries  overcome,  of  doubts  attaint. 


Lord,  let  us  suffer  still,  if  it  may  be 
Our  sufferings  only  drive  us  nearer  Thee. 
But  if,  too  strong,  they  tempt  us  to  complain, 
Ease,  pitying  One,  somewhat,  the  tempting  pain. 
So  that  in  patience  we  may  here  abide, 
Until  the  Bridegroom  come  to  call  His  bride. 

[Exit  CHOKUS. 


SALOME.  13 

THONA. 

Fruitless  again  the  search ;  nor  food,  nor  wine, 
Nor  aught  that  healthful  palates  could  endure. 
And,  led  forth  now  by  Want,  all-conquering, 
E'en  from  the  inner  chamber  where  he  sat 
In  ghastly  power,  grim  Famine  stalks  the  streets 
A  skeleton,  and  holds  the  citadel. 


Ah  !  poor  Bernice  ! 


On  each  living  thing 
Hath  placed  his  hand,  and  shrunk  them. 

SALOME. 

My  poor  friend ! 

THONA. 

A  grisly  throng  strays  through  the  courts  and 

ways, 

Till  all  the  city  seems  but  an  abode 
Of  the  accursed  dead. 


I  know  it,  Thona. 

Whilst  thou  hast  watched  beside  Bernice,  I 
Have    seen    it,  and    I    would   have    kept   thee 
here  — 


14  SALOME. 

THOXA. 

And  gone  thyself  but  that  we  prayed  thee  not, 
Since  now  fierce  persecutions  lie  in  wait 
To  seize  upon  thee,  or  to  trace  thy  steps 
To  this  our  hiding-place  ;  for  thou  art  known, 
But  here  am  I  unknown.     Yet  had  I  found 
That  which   I   sought,  my  heart  had  ne'er  re 
sisted 

The  woful  looks,  the  fainting,  fallen  forms, 
The    outstretched   hands  whose   skinny  fingers 

spake, 

The  thin  drawn  lips  which  moved  but  uttered 
naught. 

SALOME. 

Ah !  it  is  dreadful  so  to  see  them  die 
Still  unrepentant,  helpless,  hopeless  people  ! 


Oh,  it  is  horrible !  my  heart  is  sick. 

For  frenzied  creatures  wander  slow  in  groups, 

And,  as   the   starving  wretches   stretched  their 

hands 
And    glared    on    me  with    eyes    which    seemed 

like  fires 

Unnatural,  dull  burning  in  dead  trunks, 
While   from    their   open  mouths  and  shrunken 

throats 
They  tried  to  utter  prayers,  perchance  or  curses, 


SALOME.  15 

But  croaking  sounds  or  hisses  issued  thence, 
I  shuddered  ;  terrified,  I  fled  —  alas  ! 
I  could  not  help  them  !  and  they  were  so  dread ! 
For  they  appeared  as  spectres  mocking  me, 
Or  who  were  reaching  bony  hands  to  take 
And  tear  and  slay  me  ;  and  with  terror  faint 
I  neared  the  door;  with  horror  still  am  faint 
Recounting  what  I  saw  ;  yet  what  I  saAV 
I  dare  not  well  recount ;  nor  well  could  I, 
For    voice    would    fail    me,  hearing  would    fail 
thee. 

SALOME. 

What !  worse  than  thou  hast  told  ? 


The  soldiers  —  oh  ! 

The  zealots  and  seditious,  if  perchance 
Some  famished  beings  find  some  nauseous  thing, 
Which  could  be  eaten  but  when  senses  all 
Are  swallowed  by  insatiate  sense  of  hunger ; 
Which  to  contemplate  turns  the  stomach  back 
Recoiling  on  itself,  ere  they  can  gorge 
Or  hide  the  loathsome  thing  the  soldiers  seize, 
Swift   rushing   from    their    vantage-ground    of 

sight, 

And  tear  it  from  them,  from  their  very  throats  — 
They    cut  —  they    do  —  such    things    I    cannot 

tell. 


16  SALOME. 

SALOME. 

Something  of  this  I  've  heard,  something  have 

seen. 

The  dread  Erinnyes  of  the  Grecian  stage 
Are  horrors  not  so  terrible  as  those 
Which  move  the  personages  of  this  scene. 
We  're  of  the  chorus  too.     Let  us  endure 
With  patience,  since  naught  is  but  by  His  will. 
But,  love,  my  thoughts  could  not  go  forth  with 

thee, 

Nor  list  thy  dreadful  tale,  for  they  still    heard 
The  words  of  sweet  Bernice. 


What  of  her  ? 

SALOME. 

Thou  know'st  she  prayed  me  to  abide  with  her, 
For  she  would  fain  confess  somewhat  to  me. 


Repentant  ever,  her  unsparing  sight 

Sees  stains  where  others  see  but  shadows  cast. 

SALOME. 

She   feared   that  she  had    compassed   her  own 

death, 
And  so  were  guilty  — 


SALOME.  17 

THOMA. 

She !  of  her  own  death  ? 


She  thought  herself  more  able  to  endure 
The  pains  of  hunger ;  and  to  spare  our  store 
She  feigned  illness  that  she  might  not  eat. 
Her  soul  was  stronger  than  her  suffering  flesh, 
Which,  overtasked,  can  bear  its  pains  no  more. 
And,  as    an   o'erstrained   harp  whose    breaking 

strings 

Still  give  forth  music,  so  the  silver  chords, 
Of  which  her  life  was  made,  in  parting  speak 
The  gentle  harmony  within  her  soul. 
Though  all  unterrified  and  glad  to  yield, 
Yet,  seeing  Death  now  entering  her  gates, 
She  fears  she  sinfully  hath  opened  them 
And  been  a  traitress  to  the  Lord  of  life. 
Thus  she,  for  comfort,  would  confess  to  me, 
That  I  might  aid  her,  were  it  not  too  late, 
Against  the  welcome  conqueror  to  stand, 
And  help  her  to  repentance  and  forgiveness, 
Till  Duty,  yielding  not,  but  overcome, 
Should  render  her  a  prisoner,  and  so  free  her. 

THONA. 

Her  own  sweet  nature  !  thinking  but  for  others  ; 

2 


18  SALOME. 

From  those  she  loves  withholding  naught,  if  so 
She  can  but  make  them  happy,  or  relieve  them. 


Like  one  a  captive,  ta'en  in  toils  of  war, 
She  yearns,  calm  in  endurance,  to  be  rescued. 
She  longs  so  to  be  free  from  what  she  calls 
Her  prison-house  stained  with  impurities, 
The  beautiful  abode  in  which  hath  dwelt 
Her  ever-patient  spirit.     She  would  be  saved 
From  the  corruptions  which  thence  creep  upon 
Her  soul ;  from  the  temptations  therein  coiled 
To  spring  on  it  and  make  a  cureless  wound ; 
As  serpents  in  the  beauteous  palaces, 
And  things  malign  and  deadly  lie  concealed 
In  those  fair  countries  where  the  genial  warmth 
But  warms  such  noxious  creatures  into  life. 
And  so  she  fears  't  was  not  all  self-denial 
Which  bade  her  suffer  for  us  — 


Noble  woman  ! 


But  that  her  selfishness  hath  stolen   the  robes, 
As  Selfishness  oft  doth,  of  Generousness, 
And,  so  disguised,  hath  led  her  far  astray. 


SALOME.  19 


THONA. 

Let  us  go  to  her. 


She  is  sleeping  now. 


We  will  not  wake  her.     Should  she  never  wake 

It  were  a  mercy  ;  pray  that  it  be  so. 

For,  waking,  she  must  see,  as  must  we  now, 

Death  coming  to  us  in  so  dread  a  form 

As  might  appall  her  loving,  patient  spirit. 


Remember,  dear,  however  dark  the  valley, 
Howe'er  beset  with  horrors  and  with  snares, 
He  leadeth  us.     So  we  are  safe  alike 
Where  Famine  crawleth  ;  where  pale  Pestilence 
In  gardens  lurketh ;  where  death-driven  War 
Flings  conflagrations  from  his  flaming  feet ; 
Upon  the  ocean  in  the  beaten  vessel, 
Or  on  the  solid  mountain's  barren  rocks ; 
In  winter's  tempest,  or  in  summer's  calm ; 
In  burning  deserts,  or  in  dewy  vales, 
If  Christ's  love  point  the  way  and  order  us. 
Let 's  trust  in  Him,  and  gladly,  as  He  will, 
And  when  He  will,  receive  His  messenger, — 
Whether  he  come  with  dreadful  harbingers, 
The  forms  of  violence  in  ghastly  ranks, 


20  SALOME. 

The  pallid,  drooping  banners  of  Disease, 
Or  mournful  legion  of  the  Spirit's  woes, 
To  herald  his  approach  ;  or  softly  come, 
Unheralded,  eluding  every  guard, 
And  hastening  to  the  secret  halls  of  life 
In  silence,  even  to  the  master's  couch. 

THONA. 

Aud  couldst  thou  comfort  her  ? 

SALOME. 

I  did,  at  length. 

THONA. 

And  then  she  fell  asleep. 


Nay,  begged  us  now 
To  leave  her  here,  and  try  again  to  escape. 

THONA. 

That  must  we  not  do. 


We  must  comfort  her 
As  best  we  can  until  the  Comforter 
Shall  lead  her  to  His  peaceful  dwelling-place. 
Then  will  we  seek  again  a  way  to  flee 
Unto  the  mountains,  and  obey  Christ's  word. 


SALOME.  , 

The  Romans  hold  Antonia,  we  '11  strive 
Us  to  surrender  to  them  unperceived 
By  any  of  the  Jews,  and  Sextus  then,  — 

THONA. 

Or  Lepidus,  mine  own  dear  Lepidus,  — 

SALOME. 

Who  now,  they  say,  hath   brought   his  legion 

here, 
Shall  give  us  escort  safe  to  some  asylum. 

Enter  CHORUS. 

CHORUS. 

Oh  the  cry !  the  cry 

Upon  the  city  wall! 

So  might  a  demon  call 

To  earth  and  sky, 

To  tell  the  last  doom  nigh 

O 

And  worlds  appall. 

They  saw  it  while  so  crying,  — 

In  form  an  old  man  horribly  elate. 

Like    some    huge    pine    on  whose    bent  boughs 

the  weight 
Of  snows  is  lying 

«/  O 

It  stood  ;  upon  its  breast  and  shoulders  wide 
Long  hair  and  beard  rolled  in  a  snowy  tide. 
Of  giant  mould 


22  SALOME. 

The  lofty  shape,  unarmed, 

As  some  firm  fortress  bold, 

Received  the  storm  unharmed, 

Of  missiles  from  the  cloud-like  ranks 

Of  soldiers  and  of  engines  on  the  banks. 

Nor  could  they  tell, 

As  round  him  harmless  arrows  fell, 

If  that  which  breast  and  limbs  defended 

Were  sable  wings,  or  robes  by  winds  distended. 

And  when  it  cried, 

From  every  mountain  side 

A  mocking  voice  replied, 

Whose  jeering  echoes  died  — 

List !  now  it  crieth  —  Oh ! 

VOICE. 

Woe  to  the  city!    Woe! 


A  Grove  near  Ccesar's  Pavilion  in  the  Roman  Camp 
before  Jerusalem. 

LEPIDUS  and  FKIGIUS. 

*  I;IGIUS. 

AH  me  !  another  tale  of  misery ! 
I  thought  thee  happy,  man.     It  now  appears 
Thou  hast  a  plundered  and  a  ravaged  heart. 
Love  is  a  traitor,  opening  the  gate 
To  admit  the  stealthy  foe  Experience, 
Who  crusheth  every  flower  and  verdant  shrub, 
Exhausts  the  dews,  and  poisons  every  fount, 
O'ercometh  Ignorance  surprised,  and  then 
Destroys  his  cherished  treasure,  happiness. 
Why  hast  thou  never  spoke  of  this  to  me  ? 


Because  I  ne'er  could  trust  to  tell-tale  words 
The  hoarded  faith  given  unto  me  by  her. 
Nor  can  I  prize  the  man  who  ever  bears 
His  mistress's  heart  displayed  upon  his  breast, 
Not  locked  within  ;  who  hides  not,  as  a  miser 
His  precious  things,  the  priceless  proofs  of  love 
In  strongest  vaults  most  inaccessible 
Of  his  profoundest  heart. 


24  SALOME. 

FBIGIUS. 

Well  said. 

LEPIDUS. 

But  now, 

Since,  haply,  in  some  storming  enterprise 
Thou  shalt  to  Victory  climb,  and  leave  thy  friend 
One    of  the    many  whose    strong   trunks    o'er- 

thrown 
Shall  bridge   the   chasm  for  our  swift-charging 

hosts, 

I  would  intrust  thee  with  the  precious  casket 
Where  images  of  our  true  loves  are  shrined. 
I  saw  her  first  in  Germany,  and  — 


When? 


When  I  went  thither  on  an  embassy. 
'T  is  now  some  five  years  — 


Love  hath  lived  five  years ! 
He  must  be  feeble  now,  and  in  his  dotage, 
And  cannot  tell  his  own  from  other  loves. 

LEPIDUS. 

If  e'er  I  'm  king,  I  '11  have  thee  for  my  jester. 


SALOME.  25 

FKIGIUS. 

To  learn  the  truth  through  jests. 


But  jest  not  now. 

"T  was  at  that  tender  season  when  the  Sun 
Lies  wooing  in  the  alluring  lap  of  Earth, 
The  while  his  steeds  stand  still,  with  many  a  kiss 
Saluting  her  fair  cheeks  — 


Oil,  wicked  sun  ! 

Then  his  contagious  fever  taints  men's  hearts  ; 
His  warm  breath  melts  the  humors,  renders  them 
Combustible,  does  't  not  ?     So  that  the  light 
Shot  from  an  ambushed  eye,  or  briefest  contact 
Of  glowing  hands,  can  set  them  all  aflame, 
And  their  hot  conflagration  is  called  love  ? 


Mayst  thou  be  burned  by  it  till  the  dull  dross 

Obscuring  thy  fine  nature  be  consumed. 

[  saw  her  then,  and  from  her  eyes  there  fell 

A  dear  enchantment  on  me,  and  soft  clouds, 

As  they  were  winged  beings  sent  from  heaven, 

Upbore  me  from  the  world  where  I  had  dwelt 

To  an  enchanted  lover's  paradise, 

While  Love,  before,  with  gentle  dances  moved. 


26  SALOME. 

FRIGIUS. 

I  fain  would  learn  what  such  a  place  may  be. 


Then  must  I  tell  thee  ;  there  thou  wilt  not  go. 
With  Love  alone,  as  guide,  the  course  is  made, 
And  thou  wouldst  bind  Love's  wings  and  keep 

him  chained, 

The  merest  slave  and  drudge  of  merest  sense. 
A  garden  't  is,  whose  climate  generous 
Is  tempered  with  mild  incense-burning  fires. 
Its   light  is  mellow,  such   as  were  this  world's 
If,  as  he  near  the  end  of  his  bright  course, 
The  sun  were  stayed  by  fascinations  of 
Some  soft-eyed  evening  in  the  blushing  spring 
time, 

Till,  so  delaying,  Jupiter  in  wrath 
Should  bar  him  in  an  alabaster  tower, 
Builded  on  mountains  inaccessible 
Of  craggy  clouds  upon  the  western  verge, 
That,  then,  should  seem  a  fount  of  pearly  light. 
Its  breezes  sweet  — 


What !  breezes  there,  and  squalls, 
And   gales,  and    brooding    storms,  and    sudden 
tempests  ? 


SALOME.  27 


Its  breezes  sweet  the  richest  perfumes  bear 
From    flowers    sweet   scented    and    from   fruits 

exhaled, 

Commingling  with  the  odors  ravishing 
Which  verdant  April  places  on  the  robes 
Of  odor-loving,  love-inspiring  Spring. 


It  must  be  like  the  shops  where  drugs  are  sold. 


Its  balmy  air  a  mystic  compound  is 
Of  sweets  ethereal  with  magic  powers, 
Which  plants  fresh-blooming  roses  on  the  cheek, 
And  keeps  them  nurtured  there ;  in   dew  em 
balms 

And  guards  unwithered  there  the  modest  blush, 
And  kindles  in  the  eye  undying  light 
Of  warm  affection,  fans  upon  the  lips 
The  constant  glow  of  sweet  sincerity. 
Each  blemish  changes  to  perfection  rich, 
To  comeliness  every  deformity. 


A  place  for  maimed,  and  halt,  and  blind,  and 

weak. 
The  sick  should  go  there  as  to  healing  baths. 


28  SALOME. 

LEPIDUS. 

Its  music  is  the  nightingale's  sweet  song — 

FRIGIUS. 

A  mournful  note. 

LEPIDUS. 

But  very  dear  to  lovers, — 
Young  children's  voices  heard  in  joyous  sports, 
And  sighing  tones  of  that  most  skilled  musician, 
The  South-wind  harping  on  the  sounding  vines. 


A  dreadful,  sense-destroying  monotone. 
Where  is  this  garden  ? 


It  is  where  Love  dwells, 
A  deity  which  worketh  miracles. 
Who  from  the  ocean  of  Eternity 
Doth  in  an  instant  blot  the  island  Time, 
And  leaveth  lovers  on  a  raft  of  dreams, 
To  float  upon  the  ever-blissful  waves 
Which  gently  toss,  but  beat  upon  no  shore. 


I  think  that  I  should  like  the  hard  earth  better. 
But  who  is  the  high  priestess  of  this  god 


SALOME.  20 

That  so  dissolves  the  islands  and  o'erthrows 
The  natural  order  of  the  universe  — 


Nay,  't  is  the  natural  order  he  restores. — 


And  makes  the  senses  but  so  many  mirrors 
In  which  Imagination  sees  herself? 


A  captive,  with  a  beauteous  company 
Of  virgins  in  the  German  fastnesses 
Discovered,  who  spoke  our  Latin  tongue 
Somewhat,  but  brokenly ;  her  gentle  voice 
By  our  hard  letters  hindered,  as  the  breeze 
By  wires  obstructed  of  the  soft  wind-harp, 
Made  sweetest  music. 

FBIGIUS. 

Pray,  what  was  her  age  ? 


Love  counts  not  years  ;  he  cannot  calculate, 
Nor  knows  the  force  of  figures.    She  was  young, 
Midway  'twixt  morn  and  noon. 

FRIG1U8. 

And  was  she  fair  ? 


30  SALOME. 


Nor  tall  nor  short ;  her  dear  proportions  each 
By  manifest  perfection  would  engage 
The  rest  to  emulation. 

FRIGIUS. 

What  her  hair  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

Such  threads  as  rays  are  woven  of  above 
The  setting  sun. 

FRIGIUS. 

Her  face  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

A  flowery  region 

Within  the  temperate  zone,  whose  gentle  mists 
Ne'er  harbored  storms,  but  with  their  shadows 

made 
A  winning  change,  where  else  it  were  too  bright. 

FRIGIUS. 

Her  eyes? 

LEPIDUS. 

Were  beds  of  violets  which  grew 
Where  Twilight  seemed  to  dwell. 

FKIGIUS. 

Her  voice? 

LEPIDUS. 

The  music 


SALOME.  31 

Which  chords  of  sympathy  attuned  by  love 
Reply  to. 

FRIGIUS. 

Was  she  graceful  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

Yea,  as  brooklets. 

FRIGIUS. 

Thou  art  love-blind.     So  every  lover  views 
His    love.     Gods  !    what   a   compound  !    Sun's 

rays,  mists, 

Brooks,  violets,  and  shadows,  soft  wind-harps, 
And  flowery  regions,  music  and  —  what  else  ? 
I  would  as  lief  embrace  this  earthy  orb 
And  call  it  sweet-heart 


Faith !  I  think  thou  wouldst. 
I  doubt  if  thou  couldst  find  aught  else  to  love 
So  well  as  this  same  world. 


Nay,  be  not  hard. 

LEPIDUS. 

I  will  not,  if  thou  wilt  but  curb  thy  wit. 

FRIGIUS. 

And  the  companions  of  this  paragon. 


32  SALOME. 


I  kjiew  but  two.     One  was  a  Roman  girl, 
A  princess  born,  who  had  in  Britain  been 
A  captive  ;  and  escaping  thence,  by  chance, 
With  her  I  loved,  a  British  princess  too, 
A  dniid's  daughter,  fell  into  the  power 
Of  these  rapacious  Germans. 


What  of  her? 

LEPIDUS. 

Young  was  she,  yet  not  young ;  old,  yet  not  old. 
She  had  the  dignity  of  two  score  years, 
The  grace  of  one.     She  had  the  hopeful  look 
Of  youth,  the  unhopeful,  patient  look  of  age. 
There  was  such  contradiction  writ  on  her 
As  spelled  a  mystery  not  well  divined. 


And  was  she  lovely  too? 


As  is  a  tree 

Which  blushes  with  delicious  unplucked  fruits, 
While  yet  green  leaves  and  blossoms  deck  its 

boughs. 
More    queen    than  woman,  goddess   more    than 

queen, 
And  yet  than  woman  still  more  womanly. 


SALOME.  33 

FKIGICS. 

What !  didst  thou  love  her  too  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

I  reverenced  her. 

FEIGIUS. 

Who  was  the  other  ? 


She  was  Jewess  born, 

Who  had  in  Britain  been,  —  I  know  not  how, 
Nor  why,  nor  how  long  time,  —  and  thence  es 
caped 

With  these  when  Plautius  took  the  Isle  of  Mona, 
And  so  chastised  the  druids. 


Tell  her  praise, 

Unless  thy  Wordy  fancy  hath  grown  tired. 
Was  she  the  porter  of  that  Paradise, 
Its  evening  star,  its  ever-changing  moon, 
Its  Hebe,  or  its  messenger,  like  Iris  ? 


Full  beautiful  she  was,  but  very  sad, 
Like  autumn  days,  ere  autumn  yet  is  old, 
Which  seem  in  sweet  remembrance  still  to  keep 
The  smiling,  hopeful  summer,  and  to  mourn 

3 


34  SALOME. 

Its  end.     She  chiefly  loved  to  be  alone. 
If  with  these  two,  whene'er  she  saw  me  come 
She  would  withdraw  in  silence.     Mourning  garb 
Decked  her  fair  form. 


FRIGIUS. 

And  didst  thou  reverence  her  ? 
Or  worship  her  ?     Or  love  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

I  pitied  her. 

FKIGIUS. 

What  was  her  sorrow? 

UEFIDUS. 

That  they  told  me  not, 

But  said  that  she  bore  wounds  from  many  sor 
rows. 

FRIGIUS. 

Thou,  doubtless,  rescued' st  them,  and  won  thy 

love, 
And  wearied  of  her. 


Nay,  my  plan  was  knit 

And  ready,  when  plot-aiding  Slumber  should 
Its  soft  nets  tighten  round  the  heavy  limbs 
Of  their  custodians  and  hold  them  fast. 


SALOME.  35 

Ere  silent  Night,  the  dark  handmaid  of  Slumber, 
Distilled  sleep-giving  dews  upon  the  world 
And  spread  those  same  soft  nets,  a  treacherous 

horde 

Of  sly  barbarians  surprised  our  camp, 
And  made  me  prisoner,  —  it  is  with  shame 
I  tell  it.     When,  by  stratagem  and  strength, 
I  had  escaped,  I  could  not  hear  of  them. 
And  all  my  search  found  naught  but  disappoint 
ments. 

Forced  to  return  to  Rome,  I  thence  was  sent, 
Under  Vespasian,  to  the  Eastern  wars, 
And  know  no  more  of  them.     In  vain  I  sought 
The  aid  of  States  and  interest  of  power. 
I  had  but  promises. 

FKIGIUS. 

What  were  their  names  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

My    dear    love's    name   was   Thona ;  and    her 

friend's, 

Salome,  daughter  of  Herodias 
The  beautiful  and  bad. 

FRIGIUS. 

What!  that  Salome? 
Most  beautiful  was  she. 


36  SALOME. 


Her  father  was 

That  brave  Antonius  who  went  to  Britain 
With  Plautius,  there  found  his  long-lost  child, 
And  fell  defending  her.     The  other  was 
Bernice  called. 


I  saw  Salome  once. 
If  thou  hadst  loved   her,  I   had   thought   thee 

wise. 

Her  history,  they  say,  is  very  strange. 
Was  she  still  beautiful  ?    How  had  she  fared  ? 
Still  entertained  she  health  like  a  good  host? 
Ruled  cheerfulness  or  sadness  in  her  heart? 
How   looked    she  ?     Smilingly  ?     Or    pale,    or 

ruddy  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

Salome,  then,  was  calm,  nor  gay,  nor  sad. 
The  lilies  of  her  neck  and  brow  and  chin 
Could  not  o'ercome  the  roses  fast  entrenched 
Upon  the  tranquil  summit  of  each  cheek. 
Upon  her  brow  the  godlike  majesty 
Of  thought  serenely  sat.     Beneficence, 
With  light  benignant,  circled  her  fair  head. 
And  melancholy,  were  it  there  at  all, 
Was  like  a  hound  in  godlike  presence  crouched. 

Enter  an  OFFICER. 


SALOME.  37 


The  general  is  returned  and  calls  for  thee 
In  haste,  Lord  Lepidus. 


Any  mischance  ? 

OFFICER. 

I  know  not  what. 

LEPIDUS. 

I  '11  come  to  thee  again. 

[Exit  LEPIDUS. 
FRIGIUS. 

The  general,  Titus,  to  Antonia 

This  morning  went  with  Sextus,  to  observe 

The  operations  of  the  siege,  and  watch 

The  sallies  and  attacks  of  skirmishers. 

And  now  he  is  returned  in  haste  ?     Alone  ? 


Alone,  my  Lord,  but  not  in  haste.     He  came 
But  slowly ;  sad  his  port,  and  on  his  face 
Disheveled  grief  lay  abject. 


Canst  thou  guess 
The  cause  ? 


38  SALOME. 


He  went  with  Sextus ;  back  he  came 
Alone,  and,  much  distempered,  in  his  tent 
Sank  on  a  chair,  as  if  his  strength  of  soul 
Were  crushed  by  burdens  insupportable. 
Unmoving,  there  he  sits  with  drooping  arms 
And  head  upon  his  bosom,  while  his  eyes 
Are  fixed  on  things  unseen,  as  one  whose  spirit 
Had  left  its  saddened  tenement  to  go 
Some  sad  excursion  to  a  distant  sphere. 


To  learn  what 's  happened  I  will  go  about. 
If  't  be  ill  luck  it  soon  will  be  found  out. 


Caesar's  Pavilion. 
TITUS  and  LEPIDUS. 

TITUS. 

How  I  have  pitied  them  and  gently  used 
Thou  knowest ;  now   my  vengeance  shall  have 

scope. 

Ah !  he  was  one  most  loving  and  most  brave, 
In  whom  the  best  of  all  that  's  best  in  man 
With  godlike  parts,  strove  for  the  mastery. 
A  friend  most  true,  a  most  wise  counselor, 
Whom  hope  of  favor,  of  disfavor  fear 
Could  change  not ;  for  his  course  was  steered 

by  Truth. 

And  all  his  actions,  like  well-ordered  ships 
Moving  resistless  under  one  control 
To  victory,  bore  its  fair  colors  ever. 
He  was  most  dear  to  me,  as  one  who  held 
A  truthful  mirror  to  my  acts  and  plans, 
And  not  a  portrait  limned  by  Flattery, 
To  show  the  semblance  but  of  what  was  fair. 
O  Sextus,  Sextus,  thou  shalt  be  avenged. 


How  did  he  fall  ? 


40  SALOME. 

TITUS. 

That  he  was  rash  is  true, 
Or  certain  holy  fury  pressed  him  on. 
As  by  Antonia's  Tower  we  stood,  to  take 
Observance  of  the  works  and  conflict  sharp 
Between  advance  guards  of  our  troops  and  those 
Of  these  most  stubborn  Jews,  at  once  appeared, 
Among  the  Hebrew  forces,  one,  unarmed, 
On  whose  hard  muscles  Famine's  rasping  teeth 
Had  left  no  trace.     His  lofty  form  above 
The  striving  foemen  showed  a  drifted  beard, 
Resting  like  snows  upon  an  Alpine  breast. 
Brightly  above  it,  as  two  evil  stars, 
His  eyes  burned  in  the  dark  night  of  his  face. 
Nor  spear,  nor  sword-thrust   harmed   him ;  on 

he  came. 
The    Jews    stood   back   in   awe ;    the   Romans 

paused. 

Ere  I  could  beckon  Sextus  to  my  side, 
For  wonder  and  a  fearful  admiration 
Had  held  me  motionless,  like  some  foul  spell, 
The  apparition,  in  a  voice  which  seemed 
From   some    great    distance   moving,   called    on 

him  : 

Ho  !  Sextus,  ho  !  Ha,  "ha  !  Knoiv'st  thou  me  not? 
Who  won  the  game  in  Britain  ?  Ho,  my  Sextus  ! 
Then  leaped  forth  Sextus  with  a  vengeful  cry, 
Such  as  a  god  might  give,  who,  searching  worlds 


SALOME.  41 

At  length  beholds  his  foe ;  and  sword  in  hand, 
Rushed  on  the  taunting  monster.     Then   arose 
A  cheering  shout  from  all  the  Roman  host. 
The  Jews  gave  way,  while  his  still  mocking  foe 
Retreating,  on  decoyed  him,  till  at  length, 
Far  in  advance  of  succor,  on  the  stones 
Which   pave   the    Temple   court,  now  covered 

o'er 

And  slippery  with  blood,  at  once  assailed 
Upon  all  sides  by  the  returning  Jews, 
He  slipped  and  fell,  his  armor  crashing  loud, 
As  when  a  cliff  falls  from  the  mountain  side. 
He  vainly  strove  to  rise,  o'erladen  now 
By  mounting  enemies  who  smote  him  sore, 
And  falling  foes  his  fatal  sword  o'erthrew, 
And  heaped  upon  him  while  himself  o'erthrown. 


Could  no  one  help  him? 


As  a  beaten  ship 

Attacked  on  all  sides  by  the  gnarling  waves, 
When  treacherous  footing  underneath  it  fails, 
Goes  down  and  disappears  in  sight  of  those 
Who,  powerless,    stand    upon    the    high-walled 

shore, 
So  sank  he,  and  his  friends  could  give  no  aid. 


42  SALOME. 


Oh  sad  mischance  !  Oh  loss  beyond  compare  ! 
The  Jews  have  triumphed  thus  in  our  defeat. 
Yet  died  he  gloriously  as  he  had  lived. 
Now  in  Elysium  his  spirit  walks, 
And  finds  content  and  joy ;  for  I  have  heard 
That    in    his    youth    he    loved    as    strong    men 

love, 

And  that  the  frosts  of  chilling  disappointment 
Turned  all  that  summer  time  of  blooming  hope 
To  wintry  hopelessness ;  but  that  his  soul 
Was  great  enough  to  master  all  its  ills 
And  hold  them  subject. 


I  know  all  his  story. 

From  him  gushed  out  the  noblest  blood  of  Rome, 
And  sped  the  noblest  spirit.     Pure  in  honor, 
Dishonor  was  to  him  a  foreign  thing, 
Of  which  he  heard,  but  could  conceive  it  not 
Till  seen.    He  was  a  treasure-house  of  Justice,  — 
A  casket  where  the  gods  kept  manliness. 

CHORUS  without :  Roman  Soldiers  marching  to  the  trenches. 

In  the  tent,  or  in  the  trenches, 
Grappling  foes  or  captive  wenches, 
Where  the  lance  is  fiercely  gleaming, 
Where  soft  eyes  are  mildly  beaming, 


SALOME.  43 

Live  we,  pets  of  love  and  glory, 
Still,  when  slain,  to  live  in  story. 

Then  joy  to  the  soldier !  A  merry  short  life ! 
And  luck  without  care  in  the.  game  where  he 

plays, 
For  he  's  only  the  piece  that  is  moved  in  the 

strife, 

While  Destiny  silently  counts  out  his  days,  — 
Who  alike  maketh  heroes,  and  marshaleth  gods, 
Wooes  dearly  in  Venus,  in  Jupiter  nods. 


A   Chamber  in  Jerusalem. 
MA  RAH. 

MAEAH. 

ACCURSED  !  —  O    God,    was   there  no  hope   for 

me 

But  to  find  credit  still  awhile  with  Death, 
That  he  should  not  foreclose  this  tenement, 
And  drive  my  soul  to  wander  in  the  storms 
Of  Erebus  unsheltered,  that  I  did 
This  most  unnatural,  doubly  damning  deed? 
O  God  —  my  thoughts  rise  not.     I  cannot  pray. 
The  weight  of  crime  oppresseth  me  to  hell, 
And  thence  I  cannot  lift  myself —  O  God  ! 
God  cannot  hear  me,  for  His  ears  are  full 
Of  my  child's  cries.     Oh  dread  !   Oh  murdering 

thought ! 

Oh  torturing  sense !  Oh  fatal  memory  !  — 
Why  strive  to  live  ?     Gehenna  cannot  hold 
Fires  hotter  than  this  burning  consciousness 
Of  ill  deserts,  for  which  hell  keeps  no  place. 
O  God,  upon  me  lay  in  wrath  Thy  finger, 
And  blot  me  out.    The  devils  would  shrink  from 
And  leave  me  solitary.     But  why  live  ? 


SALOME.  45 

For  in  the  dread  uncertainties  of  death 
There  's  naught  so  insupportable  as  life. 
There's  no  more  memory,  so  no  more  curse. 
Here  is  its  curse  threefold :  I  cannot  be 
Perea's  gentle,  sweetly  smiling  beauty  ; 
Yet  memory  saith  I  am.     It  is  no  dream,  — 
I  loathe  the  feeble  thing  I  was,  —  I  hate 
And  shudder  at  the  loathsome  thing  I  am, 
And    curse    my   loathing,    hating,    shuddering 

self. 
Through    memory    threefold,    I  'm     threefold 

cursed. 

Avenging  conscience,  hear'st  thou  no  excuse? 
Despair  for  him  and  me,  frenetic  pain  — 

JEWISH   WOMEN,  IffitflOUt. 

Ah!     Oh!     Alas! 
Come  final  woes  ! 

MARAH. 

For  anguish  forced  me,  —  it  was  not  mine  act ; 
My  soul,  benumbed,  consented  not  unto  it. 

JEWISH   WOMEN,   without. 

Ah  !     Oh  !     Alas  ! 
Come  fatal  terror. 

MARAH. 

Sore  hunger  was  upon  me,  yea,  it  held 
Affection  motionless  in  its  hard  gripe. 


46  SALOME. 

JEWISH   WOMEN     Without. 

Ah !     Oh  !     Alas  ! 

Destroy,  and  save  us  from  these  ravening  foes  ! 

MABAII. 

No  food  !  was  dying  !  each  day  robbed  and  tor 
tured 
Till  all  was  gone,  and  patience,  and  endurance. 

JEWISH   WOMEN,   Without. 

Ah  !     Oh  !     Alas  ! 

Consume,  and  save  us  from  this  racking  horror. 

MARAH. 

One  cry,  mamma;  one  sigh,  one  look  at  me, 
And  so  his  life  rushed  into  my  red  hand. 

JEWISH   WOMEN,   Without. 

Accursed,  ye  fathers  I  mothers  doubly  cursed ! 
Blessed  barren  wombs,  and  breasts  that  never 
nursed ! 

MARAH. 

Thoughts,  thoughts,  ye  stand  devouring  flames 

before  me. 

Ye  burn  my  brain,  ye  gnaw  my  heart  away. 
Help  !  fiends  leer  horribly  —  my  bleeding  child ! 
Help  !  help  I  I  die  !    Not  dead  —  not  yet  in  hell  ? 
Oh  here  is  woe,  woe  that  should  break  its  bars. 


SALOME.  47 

O  ribs  of  steel,  give  way ;  O  iron  heart, 
Yield  up  the  secret  crimes  entombed  in  thee. 
Let  every  sin  assvime  a  devil's  form 
To  jeer,   and  mock,  and  torture ;   range    your 
selves, 

Begin  your  damned  work.     Oh  help  !  Oh  help  ! 
Still,  still  in  life  ?     O  Death,  why  tarriest  thou  ? 
My  loathing  vitals,  with  convulsive  throes 
Repel  what  once  they  bore  so  dearly ;  O  God, 
His  sweetness  on  my  palate  turns  to  gall 
And  poison,  scalding  fires  and  lingering  death. 
Oh  horrid,  horrid  feast !     Oh  unheard  woe  ! 
Oh  last  calamity  of  my  lost  people. 

Enter  SIMON,  with  Soldiers. 


Now,  woman,  thou  hast  food;  thou  feastest. 
The  smell  of  it  hath  called  us.     Bring  it  forth. 


SOLDIERS. 

Ay,  give  us  food. 

MARAH. 

Know'st  thou  me,  Simon  ? 

SIMON. 

Nav. 

* 
MARAH. 

Thy  scent  is  better  than  thy  memory. 

Thou  smellest  out  thine  own,  by  thee  forgotten. 


48  SALOME. 

SIMON. 

Cease  prating.     Bring  the  meat. 

MA  RAH. 

Thou  know'st  the  lambs 

Grown  in  Perea  are  good  ;  thou  'st  been  there, 
Simon. 

SIMON. 

Perea  ?     What  talk'st  thou  of  Perea  ? 


Flesh  I  flesh  ! 

MAEAH. 

I  had  a  lamb,  brought  with  me  from  Perea. 

SIMON. 

Let 's  have  it. 

MARAH. 

I  had  kept  it  for  thee,  Simon. 
I  loved  it  as  a  mother  loves  her  child. 
To-day  I  could  no  longer  fast ;  alone 
I  killed,  cooked,  ate  it,  Simon,  —  half  of  it. 
John's  soldiers  would  not  take  the  rest  away. 
The  scent  hath  brought  thee,  —  dost  thou  know 
me,  Simon? 

SIMON. 

I  .tell  thee,  nay. 


SALOME.  49 

SOLDIEKS. 

The  food !  the  food !  Bring  quick 


The  torture. 

SIMON. 

Silence  ! 


Patience,  good  my  masters. 
In  sweet  Perea  lived  a  maid  with  peace. 
Thou    earnest,     Simon.      When    thou    wentest 

thence 

Was  sweet  Perea  bitter ;  peace  had  fled. 
Abandoned  was  the  maiden,  and  with  her 
A  living  innocent,  accursed,  to  curse  her 
With  thy  resemblance  —  dost   thou   know  me, 

Simon  ? 

SIMON. 

What !     Marah !     No. 


SOLDIERS. 


Flesh  !  flesh  !  bring  forth  the  flesh ! 

MARAH. 

The  flesh  is  my  child,  Simon  —  mine  and  thine. 

SIMON. 

My  child ! 


50  SALOME. 

SOLDIERS. 

Oh  horror  ! 


Stay  awhile  —  nay,  stay. 
Forget  not  thus  your  courtesy,  my  masters. 
Ye  start  somewhat  too  quickly, — stay  awhile. 
Have  ye  no  word  to  say  ?     Are  ye  afraid  ? 
Slink  ye  in  silence  hence  ?    Curs,  fools,  begone  ! 
Cowards  and  thieves  —  but  I  '11  go  with  thee, 
Simon. 

[Exeunt  SOLDIEES. 

SIMON. 

Nay,  thou  shalt  not. 


I  will,   I  '11  quit  thee  not. 
Oh  let  me  go  with  thee,  or  stay  with  me. 
I  dare  not  be  alone.     The  air  is  full 
Of   shadowy  forms  :    young  children    bleeding, 

ghastly, 

And  changing  into  leering  demons ;  faces 
All  shapeless,  growing  ever  still  more  shapeless, 
And  still  more  hideous,  more  mocking  still, 
And  ever  more  and  more  like  my  poor  child. 

SIMON. 

O  Marah,  Marah,  hath  it  come  to  this  ? 


SALOME.  51 

MABAH. 

Oh  leave  me  not.   What  hast  thou  clone  for  me  ? 
In  that  dread  hour  when  our  first  mother's  curse 
Was  doubly  on  me  —  for  I,  too,  had  eaten 
Forbidden  fruit  with  thee,  and  so  had  added 
The  primal  curse  to  itself  inherited  — 
Thou  Avert  not  there,  thou  did'st  not  comfort  me. 
In  that  great  agony  I  was  alone 
With    strangers,  and,    instead    of   thee,  Shame 

stood 

By  me,  with  downcast  eyes  and  face  averted, 
Her  heavy  finger  pointing  straight  into 
My    soul,    and    hissed  :     I    have    so    suffered, 

Simon  ! 

Oh  hide  me  from  myself,  and  veil  for  me 
With  Death's  dark  robe  the  mirror  of  the  past. 
Distract  me,  Simon,  with  old  vows  of  love. 
They  made  me  then  forget  all  things  but  thee  ; 
They  may  make  me  forget  my  misery. 


Thou  art  beside  thyself.     Hence,  horror,  hence  ! 
Oh  thou  she-Moloch,  child-bane,  living  grave  ! 


Here  are  the  ruins  of  my  bosom,  Simon, 
Which  once  thou  thought' st  so  fair ;  two  palaces, 
Whose  ivory  domes,  in  thine  affection  glowing, 


52  SALOME. 

Sheltered  a  woman's  living  faith  and  love. 
Faith  was  destroyed,  and  love  hath  pined  away, 
And  so  the  palaces  have  gone  to  wreck. 
But  let  thy  dagger  break  an  entrance  there, 
Thou  'It  find  a  heart  still  beating  warm  for  thee 
Beneath  the  sunken  roofs ;  ay,  Simon,  let 
Thy  dagger  enter  there,  and  force  the  way 
For  Death.     I  dare  not  do  it ;  when  I  tried 
Mine  arm  refused ;  its  strength,  alas  !  was  gone. 


Take  thy  hands  off  me,  snake,  child-eater,  swine  ! 
I  tell  thee,  girl,  unhand  me. 


Stay  with  me  — 

SIMON. 

Cease,  hold  me  not,  or  I  shall  harm  thee  :  hence  ! 
I  loathe  thee  from  my  soul,  thou  traitoress. 
Thau  did'st  betray  me  when  I  trusted  thee, 
And  to  thine  oaths  of  love  wert  ever  false. 


Oh  never,  Simon,  ne'er,  so  help  me  Heaven,  — 
If  Heaven  vouchsafe  to  help  me  so  undone,  — 
Did  e'er  a  thought  unworthy  of  thy  love 
Approach  my  heart.     Thou  did'st  not  love  me, 
Simon. 


SALOME.  53 

SIMON. 

Thou  liest,  girl.     I  loved  thee  as  my  life. 
I  clung  to  thee  as  the  strong  body  clings 
With  all  its  nervous  fibres  to  the  soul, 
And  let  thee  go  with  as  great  agony. 
I    loved    thee,  girl :   thou  know'st  not    what    I 

mean,  — 
How  can'st   thou    know  ?   thou    so   hast  never 

loved. 

I  know  not  by  what  words  to  make  thee  ffeel 
How  thou  wert  of  me,  in  me,  over  me, 
Myself  uplifted,  my  perfected  self. 


Oh  thou  could'st  reckon  not  my  love  ;  but  count 
The  drops  of  water  in  the  sea  which  flows 
With  no  receding  tide,  compute  its  mass. 
Then  can  my  love  be  measured  ;  such  it  was. 


Oh  thou  most  fair  outside,  thou  beauteous  arbor 
Whereon,  each   night,  the  vines   and  fruits  of 

beauty 

Hung  in  seductive  sweetness,  swaying  soft, 
With  graceful  undulations,  in  the  breeze 
Of  tender  passion  ;  on  which  every  morn 
In  fragrant  afflorescence  they  appeared, 
Me  waking  from  soft  slumbers  with  their  bloom, 


54  SALOME. 

So  that  each  day  my  spring  and  harvest  was,  — 
My  foil  year  without  winter.     Oh,  I  'm   sick 
In  thinking  on  't !    They  turned  to  poison  when 
I  found  another  lurking  in  thy  heart, 
And  thou  wert  proved  unfaithful  — 


Never,  Simon 

SIMON. 

Remembrance  of  them  burns  deep  in  my  soul, 
Destroying  there  the  springs  of  life  and  hope. 
Oh  may  each  kiss  I  've  placed  upon  thy  lips, 
As  doves  upon  an  incense-burning  altar, 
Be  turned  to  scorpions,  not  on  thy  lips, 
But  stinging  on  forever  at  thy  heart. 


O  Simon,  think  on  all  my  wretchedness, 
And  curse  me  not  in  this  most  dreadful  hour. 

Enter  an  OFFICER. 


How  now  !    how  now  ?     Hast   thou  then  found 

the  place 
Where  they  conceal  themselves  ?    What  is  thy 

news  ? 

OFFICER. 

My  Lord  — 


SALOME.  55 

SIMON. 

Speak  out. 


I  Ve  sought  them  everywhere. 
Once  and  again  have  looked  the  palace  through 
In  which  they  had  been  seen,  but  found  them 
not. 

SIMON. 

Away  and  search  again,  —  look  to  thyself. 
For  if  thou  bring  not  presently  report 
Of  where,  and  how,  by  whom  she  is  concealed, 
Thy  miserable  limbs  in  morsels  torn  — 


I  '11  do  my  best,  my  Lord. 


Thy  best !    What 's  that  ? 
Say  thou  wilt  do  it,  wilt  find  her :  I  must  have 

her. 
Go,  go,  and  fail  not.     I 'must  have  Salome. 

[Exit  OFFICER. 

MAKAH. 

Salome  ? 

SIMON. 

Well? 

MAKAH. 

What  wouldest  thou  with  her  ? 


56  SALOME. 

SIMON. 

What 's  that  to  thee  ?     Or,  —  if  thou  'It  lend  me 

aid, 

For  well  I  know  thy  strength  of  craftiness, 
I  '11  tell  thee  all,  and,  if  success  greet  us, 
Thou  shalt  be  rich,  a  princess  — 

MAEAH. 

Shall  I,  truly? 

SIMON. 

Kaliphilus,  whom  many  now  believe 
One  of  the  prophets  risen  from  the  dead, 
Revealed  to  me  that,  somewhere,  in  the  city 
Salome,  with  a  band  of  Christians,  lurks. 
That  she  the  Jonah  is  whose  presence  here 
Brings  these  disasters  on  the  ship  of  state, 
Pours  all  these  curses  on  us,  helps  the  Romans, 
Turns    our    own    arms    against    ourselves,  and 

makes 
Our  contest  hopeless  — 

MAEAH. 

He  hath  told  thee  this? 


And  said  that  if  she  should  be  put  to  death, 
He  who  should  bring  to  pass  the  pious  work 
Should  bear  a  crown. 


SALOME.  O  I 

MAKAH. 

And  thou  would' st  win  that  honor? 

SIMON. 

In  faith,  would  I. 

MARAH. 

I  warn  thee,  Simon,  lay 
Not  e'en  a  finger  on  that  holy  being. 

SIMON. 

Why,  how  now,  mistress  ?    Shall  I  ask  thy  leave 
To   do  my  pleasure  ?     Art  thou   jealous,    Ma- 

rah? 

A  plague  upon  thee.     Go  thy  ways  ;  begone  ! 
And   prate  no   more  to    me.     What  's    she   to 

thee  ? 

MARAH. 

She  sought  to  draw  the  poison  from  my  soul, 
To  cure  it,  and  to  feed  my  famished  body. 
She  brought  God's  message  to  a  stubborn  con 
science, 
But  to  a  grateful  heart  — 


Go,  stand  aside  ! 

Thou  art  mad,  —  nay,   stand   not  in  my  path 
way ;  go. 
My  spies  are  now  upon  Salome's  track  — 


58  SALOME. 

MARAH. 

O  Simon,  nast  thou  not  yet  sinned  enough  ? 
Dar'st  turn  and  look  upon  tlie  crowding  crimes 
Which  follow  thee  like  devils  till  the  hour 
When  they  shall  fall  upon,  and  drag  thee  down 
To  punishment,  and  night,  and  burning  tortures, 
Repentance  hopeless,  and  remorse  eternal  ? 
Oh  add  not  to  their  number  this  so  great. 
Oh  spare  Salome ;  nay,  protect  her  too, 
And  it  shall  be  remembered  for  thy  good. 


I  tell  thee,  girl,  Kaliphilus  hath  said 
That,  whether  judged  by  Christian  or  by  Jew, 
Salome  should  by  either  be  condemned  : 
By  Christian,  for  she  murdered  John  the  Bap 
tist; 

By  Jew,  for   she 's  a    Christian  and  blasphem- 
eth. 

Enter  KALIPHILUS. 

MARAH. 

I  care  not  what  Kaliphilus  may  say. 

I  know  him  not;  he  is  some  plotting  knave. 

I  '11  tell  her  of  her  peril,  find  a  —  ah  ! 


KALIPHILUS. 


God's  curse  upon  thee,  woman,  if  thou  help  her. 
A  leprosy  consume  thy  false  outside, 


SALOME.  59 

And   turn    thy  walls    to   chalk;  gaunt  Famine 

gnaw 

Forever  on  with  unrelenting  teeth, 
And  suck  the  marrow  from  thy  shrunken  bones ; 
Thirst  build  its  fires  upon  thy  swollen  tongue, 
And  keep  them  burning  never  to  be  quenched  ; 
Hot  fevers  dry  the  sluiceways  of  thy  body, 
And  leave  them  gaping ;  dread  Delirium  hold 
Thy  crimes  in  full  deformity,  like  fiends, 
To  thine  appalled  gaze ;  Remorse  in  frenzy 
Pursue  thee,  shrieking;  be  thy  soul  on  fire, 
And  every  nerve  an  instrument  of  torture ; 
Despair    pull    at    thy  heart-strings    toward   the 

gulf, 

And  all  her  furies  haunt  thee  wThile  thou  wakest ; 
Let  Hell  surround  and  press  upon  thee  sleeping, 
And  Death  avoid  thee,  howsoe'er  besought : 
Such  be  thy  doom  if  thou  shalt  dare  to  aid 
One  upon  whom  God's   curse   hath   once  been 

laid, 

Or  if  thou  aid  not,  so  as  best  thou  can 
To  punish  one  who  lies  beneath  His  ban. 

[Exit  KALIPHILUS. 
SIMON. 
Well  may'st  thou  tremble,  girl. 

MAKAH. 

Oh  !  I  am  faint ! 


60  SALOME. 

What  shall  I  do?     O  Simon,  leave  me  not. 
Who  was  that  dreadful  being?     Whence  came 
he? 

SIMON. 

He  was  Kaliphilus,  who  having  learned 
That  I  was  here,  from  some  one,  hither  came 
To  seek  me,  doubtless  ;  or  his  wondrous  power 
Informed  him  where  I  was,  and  what  I  would, 
And  so  he  came  — 


Oh  go  not  with  him,  Simon. 
But  stay  a  little  with  me,  stay  a  little. 
He  is  no  angel,  —  nay,  nay,  trust  him  not. 


If  I  by  staying  win  thee  to  make  known 
Salome's  hiding-place,  I  then  will  own 
The  time  well  spent. 

MARAH. 

Am  I,  then,  naught  to  thee  ? 

For  what  I  've  done  wilt  thou  do  naught  for 
me  ? 

As  I  have  helped  thee  sinning,  —  come  with 
in, — 

Oh  now  so  let  me  help  thee  not  to  sin. 


A  Tent  near  Caesar's  Pavilion. 
LEPIDUS,  FKIGIUS,  and  other  OFFICEP. 

LEPIDUS. 

THIS  wine  was  grown  on  Horace's  old  farm. 
Would  he  were  liere  to  drink  it. 


That  he  were ! 

'T  would  do  me  good  to  hear  him  laugh  at  thee, 
A  love-sick  soldier,  yet  a  brave  one  too. 


But  he  is  drinking  nectar  with  the  gods. 
If  I  be  bi'ave  I  should  be  true  in  love, 
And  tender  my  affection  tenderly, 
For  bravery  is  one  half  tenderness. 
The  men  of  courage  aye  are  men  of  heart, 
And  men  of  heart  must  aye  love  constantly, 
And    constancy,  when    crossed    by    disappoint 
ments, 

Is  an  unhealing  wound ;  the  whole  man  thence 
Is  fired  with  fever,  and  grows  rash  and  fierce. 
As  thou  art  brave,  come,  pledge  me  once  to  her, 
The  love  I  lost  — 


62  SALOME. 

FRIGIUS. 

The  lost  whom  thou  dost  love. 

LEPIDUS. 

The  one  I  mourn  — 

FRIGIUS. 

The  mourner  thou  had'st  won. 


The  god  of  love,  by  thine  impiety 

To  him,  offended,  shall  yet  punish  thee  ; 

And    when   he    smites    thee    for   thy   heartless 

jeers, 
Thy  heart  shall  toss  upon  a  flood  of  tears. 


Who  knows  ?  It  may  be  in  Elysium 
That  we  shall,  all  together,  pledge   again. 
So  cheer  up,  man ;  give  us  a  merry  song,  — 
He   used   to    sing   as   if  a    Muse    had    borne 

him,  — 

A  tripping  measure,  one  to  stir  the  blood, 
And  dull  thy  wits  no  more  with  memories. 


I  cannot  sing,  for  all  things  are  ajar, 
And  e'en  celestial  harmony  would  mar. 


SALOME.  63 

An  accident  hath  made  all  things  go  wrong, 
All  out  of  tune,  and  so  would  be  my  song. 


It  is  thyself  who  now  art  out  of  tune, 
Discordant  with  all  things  beneath  the  moon. 
So  might  a  harp-string  fallen  from  its  strain 
That  all  the  strings  were  out  of  tune  complain. 
But  sing  — 

ALL. 

Ay,  sing,  whate'er  thou  wilt,  but  sing. 

LEPIDUS. 

One  of  my  own,  a  little,  simple  thing. 

[  Sings. 

Zephyr,  come,  come  by. 

Hast  thou  seen  my  dear  ? 
Bringest  thou  her  sigh 

To  me  here  ? 


Breathed  she  a  name 

When  she  sighed,  my  fair? 
Ah  !  was  it  the  same 

Which  I  bear  ? 

Are  thy  soft  wings  wet 
With  her  falling  tears  ? 

Fall  they  for  me  yet 
Spite  of  years  ? 


64  SALOMK. 


To  her  now  return, 
Tell  my  long-lost  dove 

How  for  her  I  mourn, 
How  I  love. 


Gay!  — 

Tripping  measure  !  — 


FIRST   OFFICER 


SECOND    OFFICER. 


Stirring  up  the  blood  ! 


FRIGIUS. 

As  warm  as  falling  snow-flakes  — 

THIRD   OFFICER 

Twice  as  tender  — 

SECOND    OFFICER. 

And  airy :  tell  us,  went  the  Zephyr  back  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

The  song  was  gay   since  it   hath  moved   your 

laughter, 
And  stirred  the  blood  which  warms  your  ready 

wit. 

Now  Frigius  will  sing  a  merry  song, — 
One  that  he  calleth  merry. 


SALOME.  65 

ALL. 

Frigius ! 

FRIGIUS. 

I  '11  do  my  best,  if  you  will  join  the  chorus. 

ALL. 

Agreed :  what  is  't  ? 

FKIGIUS. 

You  '11  catch  it  on  the  wing. 

[Sings. 

A  friend  and  a  flagon  of  wine  well  filled, 
And  a  wench  in  the  dance  and  in  music  well 
skilled 

To  amuse,  and,  perchance,  to  deceive  me ; 
Who  laugheth  at  Love  and  his  sorrowful  train, 
Who  never  is  sad,  and  will  never  complain, 

Are  the  joys  of  my  life,  sirs,  believe  me. 

CHORUS. 

To  Friendship  and  Venus  we  '11  drink  then,  and 

sing 
Ho,    ho   for    the   kingdom    where    Bacchus    is 

king ! 
We  '11  mount   on    the   fumes  of  the  wine  and 

away  — 
To-morrow  ne'er  cometh,  our  life  is  to-day. 


66  SALOME. 

The  gods  are  the  jolliest  fellows  alive, 

Ne'er  sighing  for  love,  never  wishing   to  wive, 

They  shake  Olympus  with  laughter. 
With  very  best  nectar  their  bowls  overflow, 
They  care  not  what  happens  above  or  below, 

And  think  not  what  may  be  hereafter. 


To  Friendship  and  Venus  we  '11  drink  then,  and 

sing 

Ho,  ho  for  the  kingdom  where  Bacchus  is  king  ! 
We  '11  mount   on    the    fumes   of  the  wine   and 

away  — 
To-morrow  ne'er  cometh,  our  life  is  to-day. 

We  cannot  be  gods.     Let  us  like  the  gods  be, 
And  woo  every  beautiful  woman  we  see, — 

In  Protean  forms  swear  we  love  her. 
Ne'er  loving,  and   sure,  when    all    other   forms 

fail, 
There  is  one  that  hath   always,  and  aye  shall 

prevail,  — 
The  golden  shower  above  her. 

CHORUS. 

To  Friendship  and  Venus  we  '11  drink  then,  and 

sing 
Ho,  ho  for  the  kingdom  where  Bacchus  is  king ! 


SALOME.  67 

We  '11   mount    on   the  fumes   of  the  wine   and 

away  — 
To-morrow  ne'er  cometh,  our  life  is  to-day. 


FIRST    OFFICER. 

Good  !     That  becomes  a  man. 

THIRD   OFFICER. 

Faith!  Excellent. 

SECOND   OFFICER. 

A  brave  song,  Frigius,  and   bravely  sung. 


'T  is  pity  when  sweet  music  is  profaned 

By  impious  verse,  —  a  thousand  times  more  pity 

Than  to  see  Venus  in  the  arms  of  Vulcan. 

FIRST  OFFICER. 

We  have  o'erstayed  our  time,  our  duties  call. 


Then  will  I  keep  you  not.     Accept  my  thanks 
For  courteous  company,  and  my  excuse 
That  I  cannot  be  merry  as  yourselves. 

FIRST  OFFICER.      * 

We  are  thy  debtors  till  we  meet  again. 

[Exeunt  all  but  LEPIDUS  and  FRIGIUS. 


68  SALOME. 


Now  is  the  time,  and  I  am  in  the  mood, 
Although  thou  thinkest  not,  to  hear  thy  story. 
That  powerful  love  of  thine  who  gently  bore, 
Like  Atlas  young,  a  new  world  on  her  shoulders, 
And  thee  within  it,  did  she  weary  grow, 
And  cast  it  — 

LEPIDUS. 

She  could  never  weary  grow 
Of  her  own  lovely  self,  my  world  of  love. 


And  leave  thee,  Alexander-like,  to  weep 
For  some  new  world  to  conquer  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

No  new  world, 

Though  peopled  with  the  fairest  goddesses 
That   e'er  wore    woman's   form,   displayed    her 

charms, 

By  her  enticements  made  men  madly  fall, 
Or  made  them  heroes  passing  demi-gods, 
Could  turn  my  thoughts  from  the  dear  one  I 

love, 
Though  it  were  blasted,  or  I  banished  thence. 

FRIGIUS. 

Be  blind  and  see  no  other  bliss  but  this, 


SALOME.  69 

Her    sighs,    her   yearnings,    tender    words,  hot 

tears, 

Heart-palpitations,  bosom-heaving  sobs, 
Smoth'ring  embraces,  seeming  perfect  trust, 
Abandonment  of  her  whole  self  to  thee, 
Which  she  would  make  appear  oblivious,  — 
Oh  blissful  dreamer,  dreaming  of  such  bliss, 
And  cursed  because   thv  blissful  dream  is  this. 


It  is  no  dream  ;  Love  maketh  all  bliss  real, 
Imagination  may,  as  dreams,  conceive  — 


Invests  a  clown  with  graces  from  the  skies, 
Endues  a  fool  with  wisdom  of  the  gods, 
An  Ethiop  clothes  in  Iris,  shining  robes  : 
Go  on  with  the  true  tale  of  thy  true  love. 
If  I  can  help  prolong  this  dream  I  will, 
Since  't  is  thy  fancy  to  be  happy  thus. 
I  '11  give   thee    sleeping  draughts,  love  potions, 

keep 

Disturbance  hence,  or  strive  to  master  it, 
Should  it  approach  in  form  of  some  fair  woman. 
Now,  look  at  me,  I  'm  solemn  as  thyself. 

LEPIDUS. 

When    some   great   bird    of   sorrow,   darkening 
heaven, 


70  SALOME. 

Shall  cow  thy  soul  which  crows  so  lustily, 
'T  will  seek,  with  drooping  plumage,  head  low 

bent, 
The  shelter  of  sweet  sympathy,  content. 


Nay,   tell  me  in  good  sooth  and  sympathy 
Of  all  thy  love  for  her,  and  hers  for  thee. 
Or,  shall  I  con  it  in  some  poet  old? 
I  trow  such  tales  have  oft  before  been  told. 
The  names  and  actors  change,  but  still  the  play 
Is  played  in  words  unchanging  day  by  day. 
Now  am  I  serious,  employ  my  mood, 
And,  by  imparting,  give  thy  love  its  food. 


I  would  Experience  might  teach  thee  how 
Love  may  be  true,  and  sacred  keep  its  vow  ; 
Then  should'st  thou  reverence  what  thou  now 

dost  rate 
The  cheat  of  knaves  and  folly  of  the  great. 


When  sweet  Experience  shall  teach  me  this, 
May  I  be  skilled  to  call  such  learning  bliss. 


With  the  barbarians  in  Germany 
My  love,  and  her  companions  — 


SALOME.  71 

FRIGIU8. 

Were  as  trees 
Transplanted  to  base  uses,  fading  there  — 


Nay,  were  as  plants  walled  in  and  sacred  held 
For  healing  virtues.     On  their  way  from  Britain, 
Driven  on  that  frigid  coast  and   taken  captive, 
Salome,  and  the  others,  all  were  brought 
Before  the  chief,  who,  then,  the  subject  was 
Of  powerful  maladies,  whose  secret  wiles 
His  doctors,  ignorant,   could  not  defeat. 
Salome,  by  a  power  these  Christians  have, 
When  holy  as  herself,  laid  skillful  siege, 
And  shortly  made  Disease  capitulate. 
The  chief  set  free,  and  to  his  realm  restored, 
In  grateful  health  proclaimed  at  once  a  law 
Which  made  their  persons  sacred,  and  thence 
forth 

None,  save   his   gods,  with   him  had   so  much 
worth. 

FRIGIUS. 

So  then,  thy  love  is  a  wise  woman's  pupil, 
And  in  that  forest  shade,  ere  this,  no  doubt, 
Hath  instituted  an  academy. 
There    shalt    thou    find   her   teaching   youthful 

Germans, 
And  giving  them  the  name  of  Thonians. 


72  SALOME. 

LEPIUUS. 

For  no  such  manly  work  was  she  inclined, 
Yet  for  good  actions  ever  had  a  mind. 

FKIGIUS. 

Salome,  there,  could  follow  out  her  bent, 
And  lecture  gaping  men-wives  in  a  tent. 


The    gods    ne'er  saw,  with   their    far-reaching 

gaze, 

A  modesty  more  excellent  than  hers, 
A  gentleness  more  gentle,  heart  more  full 
Of  ready  sympathy.     Her  life  was  worth, 
In  her  esteem,  the  good  she  did,  no  more. 
Such  as  she  was,  such  was  my  Thona  too. 
And,  under  guidance  of  sweet  Charity, 
They  sought  out  w^oes  with  such  timidity 
That  thou  wouldst  say  they  were  almost  ashamed 
To  be  encountered  as  the  followers 
Of  this  fair  mistress,  lest  it  should  appear 
They  followed    her    too    poorly.      Where  they 

went, 
To  meet  them  tearful  thanks  and  prayers  were 

sent. 

FRIGIUS. 

They  made  a  progress  very  April-like. 


SALOME.  73 

LEPIDUS. 

Their   frank   but    modest   look,    their   soft   dis 
course, 

Their  gentle  bearing,  their  chaste  courtesy 
Was  but  their  beauty  in  harmonious  action,  — 
A  guard  of  powerful  charms  repelling  all 
Too  venturous  thoughts,  or  over-bold  desires. 
And  timorous  sense  of  woman's  winning  weak 
ness 

With  magic  weapons  furnished  loveliness, 
And  gave  an  air  entreating  to  their  grace, 
Whose  every  action  seemed  to  ask  protection. 
And  guardian  Innocence   invested  them 
With  majesty  'fore  which  the  boldest  words 
Were    dumb  ;  with    certain    trustfulness    which 

pleaded, 
And   which,  in    woman's    mien,  ne'er    fails   to 

rouse 

The  noblest  feelings  of  the  noblest  men, 
And  gentleness  create  in  breasts  the  rudest. 


Lo,  I  grow  gentle  hearing  thee  relate. 

Had  I  but  seen  them  it  had  made  me  great. 


Their  presence  was  like  Music  when  she  moves 
Enchanting  passions  base  to  helplessness, 


74  SALOME. 

And  freeing  the  diviner  parts  in  man 

By  these  same  passions  tyrannous  oppressed. 


But  did'st  thou  tell  thy  love  ?    And  loved  she 
too? 


One  day  when  Phoebus'  ardent  eye  had  driven 
The  lolling  kine  to  shelter  of  deep  shade, 
And  men  had  hidden  from  his  majesty, 
As  they  had  feared  the  god  in  his  bright  pres 
ence, 

I  sought  a  brook  which,  for   its  dainty  course, 
Had  paved  a  way  with  white  and    moss-grown 

stones 

And  work  Mosaic  made  of  varied  pebbles, 
O'er  which  it  sauntered  in  the  coolest  bowers 
Of  overhanging  trees  and  blooming  shrubs. 
There,  seated  on  a  happy  bank,  was  she,  — 
One  little  foot  half-buried  in  the  stream, 
Which  tarried,  gurgling,  round  the  pretty  thing, 
And  stretched  its  lips  to  kiss   the  ankle  white. 
Her  hair,  unbound,  adown  her  shoulders  fell, 
And  o'er  her  bosom  as  it  were   the  wings 
Of  some  bright  angel  guarding  Innocence. 
Her  robe  undone,  that  she  might  lave  her  throat, 
Displayed  her  fair  round  neck  — 


SALOME.  75 

FKIGIUS. 

And  beauties  there 

Like    rose-buds  white  just  bursting   from  their 
husks. 

LEPIUUS. 

I  would  escape  unseen  to  fright  her  not. 
But,  ere  I  could  withdraw,  the  sentinels 
Placed  at  the  roseate  gateways  of  her  soul, 
O'er  which  her  tresses,  as  luxuriant  vines, 
Hung,    half    concealing    them,    gave    warning. 

Then 

She  started  up,  and,  seeing  me,  a  blush 
Changed  noonday  fair  to  evening's  lovelier  hue 
In  that  sweet  heaven   on  which  my  gaze  was 

fixed, 

As,  with  eyes  downcast,  trembling,  eager  hands 
She  tried,  unskillfully  to  hide   those  charms. 


And  skillfully  thou  did'st  assail  her  then, 
To  gain  possession  of  them  ta'en  by  storm. 


With  reverence,  such  as  at  the  holiest  shrine 
Pleads  for  the  worshiper,  who  there  would  seek 
The  oracle  in  which  his  life  is  summed, 
I  neared  her  ;  and  as  best  my  heart  could  speak, 
Avowed  my  love  and  pleaded  for  her  own. 


76  SALOME. 

She  shook  with  gentle  terror,  turned  her  face, 
Suffused  like  morning,  from  me,  while  her  hand 
Strove  to  be  free  more  like  a  timid  thing 
Than  one  in  anger  — 


And  thou  thoughtest  real 
This  coyness  counterfeit  ? 


Into  mine  arms 

And  to  my  breast  with  gentle  force  I  drew  her, 
And  there  she  panted  as  she  would  inhale 
A  breath  of  life  immortal  passing  near, 
And  live  forever.     Then  I  bent  my  head 
And  gathered  unripe  kisses,  not  yet  bloomed, 
But  sweet  as  dewy  rose-buds  on  her  lips. 
Still  only  half-concealed  were  those  twin  altars 
Of  Avhitest  alabaster,  on  whose  summits 
The  constant  fires  of  love  glow  constantly. 
Her  perfect  form  had  made  a  Grecian  worship. 


Fie  !  Lepidus !  I  pray  thee  talk  not  so. 
Destroy  not  all  those  flowers  of  modesty, 
My  blushes,  with  such  overheated  words. 
The  delicacy  of  my  soul  should  be 
Still  unimpaired  by  any  word  of  sense. 


SALOME.  77 

LEPIDUS. 

A  madcap  art  thou.     What !  art  grown  so  nice 
In  this  o  erscrupulous  age,  so  deeply  skilled 
In  hidden  knowledge,  that  no  word  of  love 
But  to  its  ear  a  hidden  meaning  gives, 
Which  makes  it   think  it    ought  to   blush,   yet 

cannot  ? 

No  name  which  shows   distinguishment  of  sex 
But  it  would  shun,  as  showing  guilty  knowledge. 
E'en  in  the  closet  must  no  word  be  spoke 
Describing  beauties  all  the  world  may  see. 
No  name  of  image  or  of  aught  pertaining 
To  Love's  delightful  worship  but  their  souls, 
Whose  empty  voices  make  the  loud'st  outcry, 
Submerged  in  sense  till  they  are  sensual  all, 
Perceive  what  brings    them   shame.     Yet  they 

unveil 

Those  sacred  altars  in  Love's  holiest  shrine 
To  vulgar  and  profane ;  and  still  the  nearest 
Shall  but  offend  if  by  a  word  he  show 
That  he  sees  aught,  or  worships  what  is  seen, 
As  Beauty  aye  is  worshiped  by  the  pure. 
For,  knowing  naught,  in  this  all-sensual  mood, 
But  Love  profaned,  they  may  not  comprehend 
That  Love  and  Beauty  are  a  wedded  pair, 
And  Poetry  their  first-begotten   child, 
Who,  uncorrupted,  speaketh  guilelessly 
As  children  speak  ;  and  loveth  that  the  most 
To  Love  and  Beauty  equally  most  dear. 


78  SALOME. 


Ah !  then  't  is  thou  art  Poetry  uncorrupted. 
Thou  speakest  guilelessly  as  children  speak. 
Oh  !  thus  I  'm  in  no  danger ;  pray  go  on. 


Should  Venus'  priestesses  be  all  debased, 
Profaned  by  them  her  pure,  primeval  worship, 
The  purest  worshiper  in  formal  words 
Should,  in  their  vision,  be  as  vile  as  they. 


Nay,  talk  of  love.     I  hate  philosophy. 

We  left  thee  with  thy  loved  one  in  thine  arms. 


Still   pleading   for   her   love,  some  word,  some 

sign; 

Her  bosom  heaved  against  my  rib -bound  heart 
Like  tides  of  ocean  on  the  rocky  flanks 
Of  some  volcano  shaken  by  its  fires  — 


Or  ruddy  apples  tossed  upon  a  brook. 


Peace,  mocker !    peace !    What !    Shall    I   beat 
thee? 


SALOME.  79 


Nay. 

I  pray  thee  do  not,  for  the  mad  are  strong. 
I  would  but  aid  thee  with  comparisons. 
What  proofs  would'st  thou  have  more  ?     Wert 
thou  content  ? 


Ay,  almost  sad  with  great  excess  of  joy, 

For  as  I  loved  her  so  did  she  love  me. 

And,  till    the    treacherous    villains    spoiled   my 

plot, 

Which  should   have  knit  our  destinies  for  aye, 
This  love  grew  hourly  and   suffused   our  souls. 
But  so  to  leave  her,  no  long  farewells  said, 
No  last  kiss,  knowing  it  to  be  the  last, 
In  whose  dear  agony  half  of  each  soul 
Torn  from  itself  is  to  the  other  given 
In  pledge  eternal  of  eternal  love  !  — 
Oh  could  I  hold  her  in  my  arms  again 
But  for  one  moment,  or  the  hundredth  part 
Of  time's  minutest  measure,   I  would  give 
The  rest  of  life,  if  such  the  forfeit   were, 
And  die  in  ecstasy,  this  longing  ended. 

Enter  a  SOLDIER. 


My  Lord,  I  bear  a  message  ;  here  't  is  writ. 


80  SALOME. 

LKPIDUS.    (Rends.) 

To  the  great  generals  Lepidus  or  Sextus. 
Whence  hadTst  thou  this,  my  man  ? 


A  personage 

Who  might  have  been  a  messenger  from  Hades, 
Or  from  supernal  gods,  so  dread  his  mien, 
Appeared  before,  and  gave  this  letter  to  me. 


What  was  he  like  ? 


A  man ;  and  yet  unlike. 

His  eyes  were  as  two  fires ;  his  voice  was  heard 
As  might  be  meanings  of  some  mighty  shade, 
Disconsolate,  when  wafted  o'er  the  Styx. 


This  soldier  is  a  poet.     He  hath  seen 
A  starveling  Jew,  and  his  poetic  vision 
Conceived  a  wonder:  magnified  his  bones 
Till  they  were  frame- work  for  a  universe  ; 
Saw  each  dull  orb  a  world  in  conflagration ; 
Heard  the  dread  din  of  Hades  from  his  mouth, 
And  —  speaketh  guilelessly  as  children  speak  — 
A  plague  on  all  the  race  !  of  use  to  none  : 


SALOME.  81 

Full  of  untruths,  they  history  pervert ; 
Full  of  presumption,  Xature  they  distort, 
All,  —  thee  excepted,  Lepidus,  my  friend. 
But  read  the  letter,  pray  let 's  know  his  news. 

LEPIDUS.   (Reads.) 

Salome  and  Thona  are  in  the  city,  starving! 
Shame !  idlers,  craven  Romans,  lovers  false ! 
Starving ! 

FRIGIUS. 

Salome  and  Thona  in  the  city ! 

LEPIDUS. 

Impossible  — 

FRIGIUS. 

Can  it  be  true  ? 

LEPIDUS. 

If  so, 
With  one  blow  he  hath  given  me  life  and  death. 

FRIGIUS. 

Whence  came  this  messenger? 

SOLDIER. 

I  cannot  tell. 
I  saw  him  not  till  he  accosted  me. 

6 


82  SALOME. 


My  Tliona  here,  so  near  me  ?     Lover  false ! 
Ay  false,  who  could  not  feel  her  holy  presence, 
If  she  indeed  be  here.     Yet  how  to  prove  it  ? 

FRIGIUS. 

But  whither  went  he  ? 


Toward  the  city  gate  — 


Untouched  ? 


Ay,  though  our  soldiers  smote  at  him, 
And  thrust  with  spears,  and  flung  their  javelins, 
Which  turned  aside  as  they  had  glanced  from 

shields 

Invisible,  and  arrows  fleAv  astray 
About  him,  turning  not,  until  he  vanished. 


He  vanished 


Ay,  my  Lord,  he  disappeared 
As  he  had  sunk  into  the  solid  earth. 


SALOME.  06 

LEPIDUS. 

When  was  this  ? 

SOLDIER. 

Early  in  the  morning  watch, 
Ere  yet  the  torch  of  Dawn  had  lit  the  world. 

LEPIDUS. 

Why  comest  thou  so  late  ? 


At  first,  my  Lord, 

I  could  not  leave  my  post,  and  when  relieved, 
I  hastened  straightway  to  the  tent  of  Sextus, 
Who  then  with  Titus  had  to  Antonia  gone. 
I  sought  thee  in  thy  tent ;  thou,  too,  wert  forth 
Upon  some  secret  duty ;  none  could  say 
Where  I  might  find  thee. 

LEPIDUS. 

It  is  well.     Retire. 
[Exit  SOLDIER. 

FRIGIUS. 

A  strange  tale,  truly. 

LEPIDUS. 

Yet  the  man  is  brave, 
And  fears  nor  shade  nor  demon.     Counsel  me. 


84  SALOME. 

FRIGIUS. 

I  would  to  Titus,  make  the  matter  known, 
And  seek  his  aid.     Josephus,  too,  perchance, 
The  wise  man  of  the  Jews,  could  counsel  thee. 
Demand  a  parley,  question  then  the   Jews  — 


Thou  sayest  well.     If  this  be  aught  but  sound, 
Or  Lepidus  is  lost  or  Thona  found. 


Summit  of  a  Tower. 

KALIPHILUS. 

YET  they  are  here.    Of  that  my  skill  assures  me, 
Which,  like  a  woman,  hath  me  hither  led 
To  balk  me  now  that  I  would  grasp  the  prize. 
For  two  whole  days,  two  sleepless  nights,  I  've 

sought, 

By  every  crafty  instrument  of  power, 
To  find  their  lurking-place,   without  avail. 
In  vain  I  've  studied  till  I  can  outdo 
My  masters,  as  could  Moses.     I  have  gone 
Beyond  the  bounds  of  knowledge,  and  have  found 
Such  skill  and  potency  in  use  of  Nature 
That  magic  is  a  shallow  trickster's  art 
Compared  with  master  secrets  in  my  power, 
Which  guide  me  to  the  hidden  treasure-house, 
But  mock  me  now  that  I  would  have  the  key  : 
Yet  are  they  here,  and  I  must  find  them  out. 
I  turn  to  you,  O  dwellers  in  the  heart : 
Ye  shall  not  fail  me  ;  answer  to  my  skill, 
And  by  you  shall  I  yet  achieve  my  will. 
Now  have  I  Sextus  ;  Lepidus,  ere  this, 
Hath  read  my  message,  and,  to  save  his  love, 


bo  SALOME. 

Some    desperate    move    shall  make,  and  I  will 

take  him. 

If  he  do  not,  why,  then  I  need  him  not, 
Since  I  have  taken  Sextus  in  my  plot. 
With   these    I   bait   the    traps  for  those ;    with 

those 

For   these,  who  shall,  for  love,  themselves  dis 
close. 

And,  when  the  covert  is  discovered,  then, 
O  God-defying  Stubbornness,  stand  firm, 
And  give  no  ground  to  swift  and  sharp  accusers. 
Yet  dare  I  not  look  on  my  crime   marked  out 
In  plain  and  definite  words  ;  its  aspect  dread 
Would,  as  a  Gorgon's,  turn  me  into  stone, 
But  for  my  doom  which  holds  this  solid  flesh 
Unchangeable,  this  warm  blood  uncongealed, 
Yet  must  confront  it.     Let  me  be  the  thing 

O 

This  doom  hath  made  me,  seeking  not  to  thwart 
The  purpose  of  the  Infinite,  ha,  ha  ! 
For  he  that  is  accursed  a  curse  must  be. 
Let  me  be  great  in  it,  as  Satan  great, 
Ay,  overdo  his  cunning  and  his  hate. 

Enter  SIMON. 

Have  they  been  found  ? 


Nay  — 


SALOME.  Di 

KALIPHILUB. 

Marah  aids  thee  not? 


Not  yet.     Perchance  — 

KALIPH 

The  torture  might  induce  her. 

SIMON. 

I  would  not  use  it;  know,  she  is  my  wife. 


KALIPHILUS. 


KALIPHILUS. 

Hath  been  so  racked  and  buffeted  by  thee 
She  would  not  mind  the  torture  ;  thou  art  right. 
But  it  concerns  thee  to  find  out  these  Christians. 
If  thou  would' st  save  the  city  and  be  king. 
Look  to  it  well.     To  me  it  matters  not. 
This  nation  rusheth  howling,  shrieking  down 

O'  O 

To  silent,  desolate,  and  final  ruin. 

But,  as  a  vessel  shivered  by  the  lightning, 

It  leaveth  me  afloat,  to  beat  all  shores, 

Yet    ne'er    to    find    the    thing  thou  dread'st,  a 

grave. 
What  are  to  me  these  flames  and  falling  towers  ? 

C? 

I  cannot  perish.     So  shall  I  see  fall, 
As  't  were,  from  year  to  year,  the  leaves  and 
fruit, 


88  SALOME. 

Cities  and  nations  from  the  world's  old  tree, 
With  ripeness  heavy  in  the  age's  autumn, 
As  cycle  followeth  cycle  till  the  end  ; 
Or  blighted  in  their  green  and  crescent  state, 
And  scattered  by  the   storm-breath  of  the  Al 
mighty, 

Which  maketh  winter  in  the  universe. 
I,  as  an  angel,  see  them  go,  and  hear 
Ravage  of  cities  and  the  rush  of  ruins, 
As  man  the  rustle  of  the  falling  leaves. 
Henceforward  I  've  no  country.     In  each  land 
A  phantom  from  the  shadows  of  the  past 
Shall  I  appear  ;  and  in  each  prosperous  nation, 
As  on  a  ship,  in  pleasant  weather,  sail 
The  space  that  lies  'twixt  the  dim  shores  of  ages. 
When  cometh  a  fierce  storm,  I  '11  leave  the  vessel 
To  those  who  own  it ;  let  them  struggle  for  it, 
And  save  it,  if  they  can. 

SIMON. 

Since  thou  permittest 
Thy  servant  to  hear  so  much  of  thyself, 
Vouchsafe,  I  pray,  to  tell  me  who  thou  art. 


KALIPHILUS. 


One  who  can  aid  thee,  if  thou  wilt  obey. 

SIMON. 

I  will  obey  in  all  things  possible. 


SALOME.  89 

KALIPHILUS. 

Things  possible !  'T  is  well.  Go  to  my  dwell 
ing* 

There  shalt  thou  find  the  Roman  general 
Sextus. 

SIMON. 

How  !     Is  he  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

Hence,  and  do  as  I  command, 
And  bear  him  thence  into  the  castle  dungeon. 
Then  cause  a  proclamation  to  be  made 
That  Sextus  is  a  prisoner  in  the  castle, 
And  that  he  shall  be  crucified  to-morrow. 

SIMON. 

It  shall  be  done.     And  then  ? 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  '11  tell  thee  more. 

[Exit  SIMON. 

She  surely  shall  the  proclamation  hear, 

Or  some  kind  friend  shall  tell  it  in  her  ear. 

Forgetful  of  all  caution,  she  will  flee 

To  Sextus  in  his  dungeon  — •  that  's  to  me. 

The  net  is  set,  and  placed  is  the  decoy, 

The  dove  will  fly  into  the  snare  with  joy. 


A   Chamber  in  Jerusalem. 

SALOME,  THONA,  and  BERNICE. 

BEENICE,  waking. 

WILL  he  not  come  ?  Oh !  will  he  never  come  ? 
I  loved  him  so  —  he  hath  forgotten  me. 
But  he  hath  gone  away,  and  never  more 
May  come  to  stay  my  weeping  as  of  yore. 

SALOME. 

Bernice,  dear. 

BERNICE. 

Ah !  thou  art  here,  Salome, 
My  loved  protectress,  my  dear  guide  to  hope. 
I  ne'er  can  tell  the  gratitude  I  owe 
To  thee,  and  to  the  Tenderness  which  sent  thee. 

SALOME. 

How  art  thou,  love? 


Almost  well,  almost  well. 
1  have  been  dreaming  of  the  olden  time, 


SALOME.  91 

Of  one  I   loved  —  my   thoughts   will    cling   to 

earth  ; 
In  sleep  I  seemed  to  live  earth's  sorrows  o'er. 


The  constant  heart  loves  constantly  till  death, 

Oft  clings  to  the  unworthy  and  the  vile, 

As  vines  still  cling,  e'en  when  their  leaves  have 

fallen, 
To  branches  all  decayed  and  trunks  polluted. 


Oh  is  it  wrong  in  this  most  solemn  hour, 
While  I  can  see,  as  't  were,  the  messengers 
Sent  to  conduct  me  to  our  Father's  house, 
By  Love  and  Condescension  infinite, 
And  feel  myself  almost  in  heavenly  presence, 
For  me  to  think  upon  Kaliphilus  ? 

SALOME. 

Ah  me  !  I  cannot  deem  it  wrong  to  love. 


Oh  that  he  could  be  brought  from  wandering ! 
That  I  could  see  him  once  and  plead  with  him 
To  bow  his  pride,  and  feel  the  sad,  sweet  joy 
Of  penitence,  and  ever  present  bliss 
Of  full  forgiveness.     How  I  pity  him  ! 
How  mournful  is  his  case  !  How  very  dreadful ! 


92    .  SALOME. 


Even  for  him  there  may  be  mercy  yet. 


BERNICE. 


0  tell  him,  for  thou  yet,  perchance,  shall   see 

him, 

That,  till  my  death,  I  prayed  for  him  ;  that  still, 
If  after  death  it  be  permitted  me, 
My  soul  shall  wrestle  for  his  poor  soul's  weal. 
And  tell  him  that  —  if  it  may  comfort  him  — 

1  loved   him  still,  —  with  pure   and  chastened 

love, 

As  I  dare  trust.     Beseech  him  to  repent. 
Wilt  thou  do  this  for  me  ? 

SALOME. 

I  will,  I  will, 

BERNICE. 

Salome,  take  my  hand,  and  yield  it  not, 
Save  to  the  heavenly  guides  who  wait  for  me. 
As  thou  didst  lead  me  from  the  ways  of  sin 
Conduct  me  so  unto  the  gate  of  heaven. 
Farewell,    dear    Thona.     Thou    hast    not    dis 
dained 

To  be  to  me  a  sister.     Fare  thee  well. 
Give  my  last  greetings  to  the  faithful  band 
Who  with  us  have  so  long  been  sorely  tried. 
Do  not  let  go  my  hands.     I  fain  would  sleep. 


SALOME.  93 


CHORUS,  Christians  in  another  chamber. 

God  is  our  refuge,  ever  present  aid, 
Our  firm  foundation  ere  the  worlds  were  made. 
Therefore  we  fear  not,  though  the  earth  remove, 
And  roll  away  in  flames  the  skies  above. 

Though  all  the  nations  rage  and  be  our  foes, 
Though  hell  let  loose  on  us  infernal  woes, 
Though  seas    mount   up  on  seas  and  reach  to 

heaven, 
Though  day  in  night  be  lost,  and  morn  in  even, 

Though  utter  darkness  reign  in  utter  space, 
Though  Death  in  hideous  form  hold  every  place, 
Though  chaos  in  the  centre  whelm  the  pole, 
And  dread  confusion  through  creation  roll, 

Though     nether     regions     be     commixed    with 

heaven, 

And  all  the  stars  be  from  their  stations  riven, 
God  is  our  refuge,  our  unfailing  strength, 
And  mercy,  silent  long,  will  speak  at  length. 


At  home  !  dear  home  !     Do  ye  not  see  the  hills 
Which  guard  our  own   dear  valley?    though  I 
walk  — 


94  SALOME. 

Though  I  walk  through  the  valley  —  see  !  the 
tents  — 

The  flow'rets  sweet  which  blossom  in  the  mead 
ows. 

THONA. 

She  is  not  well  asleep. 

SALOME. 

Perchance  her  soul 

Is  breaking  free  to  visit  the  loved  spots 
Of  earth  before  it  takes  a  final  flight. 


I  have  so  longed  to  see  my  native  hills  — 
From  whence    cometh    my   help,  —  I    will    lift 

up- 
'T  is  gone  —  I   cannot  find    it.     See  !  they  're 

armed  ! 

Their  russet  armor  glances  through  the  rents 
Of  mantles  battle-torn  —  and  when  he  called 
They   came    and   helped   him,  —  giant  men-at- 
arms. 

They  fear  no  foe,  and  —  they  are  resting  now  — 
Lo  !  he  is  coming !  he  is  on  the  hills ! 
I  '11  go  to  meet  him.     Oh !  are  they  not  fair  ? 


She  feels  no  pain.     She  shall  not  suffer  more. 


SALOME.  95 

BERNICE. 

Who  called  me  ?     Ah  !    I  '11  come,  I  '11  come, 

I  hear. 

Leave  me  a  little  while  —  it  is  so  fair  — 
And  now  the  lambs  are  coming  to  the  fold. 

THONA. 

Alas !  alas  !     Will  she  not  know  us  more  ? 

SALOME. 

Yea,  let  us  hope  so,  in  the  blessed  mansions. 


O   mother!  mother!     I  have  come  again. 
Forgive  me,  mother.     Ah  !  she  hears  me  not. 
The  skv  is  over  them  —  and  in  its  place 
The  sun  goes  up  and  down  —  and  gentle  clouds, 
Behold  those  gentle  clouds  !  —  how  beautiful ! 
They  wing  the  air  and  come  beneath  the  sun  — 
The  saints  redeemed,  in  white  below  the  Throne 
Are   gathered  —  now  they   bow    themselves    in 

praise  — 
Are  they  not  saints  ?    How  white  and  pure  they 

are  ! 
Are  they  not  saints  ?     Who  told  me  they  were 

saints  ? 

THONA. 

So  white  and  pure  shalt  thou  be,  blissful  saint. 
Enter  CHORUS. 


96  SALOME. 

SALOME. 

Well  come,    dear   friends,  in    time    to   see    our 

loved  one 
Depart  before  us  to  a  better  country. 

CHORUS. 

The  guest  is  ready,  with  her  wedding  garments 
on. 

Her  longings  shall  be  ended  in  fruition  full. 

And  wooed  no  more  by  sins  in  angel  forms,  no 
more 

Must  she,  with  sleepless  penitence  the  live-long 
night, 

Undo  in  tears  the  web  of  errors  wrought  by  day. 

No  more  shall  trials  crush  her  down  with  moun 
tain  weight. 

Reposing  ever  in   His   house,  upon  His  breast 

Shall  she,  in  trust  eternal,  find  eternal  rest. 


They  melt  away !  they  fade  !  they  fade  !  alas  ! 
I  cannot  see  them  more. 


The  shadow  falls. 

BERNICE. 

Only  the  clouds  —  the  fair  white  clouds  —  they 
come  ! 


SALOME.  97 

THONA. 

She  is,  perchance,  entranced.     It  is  a  vision. 


He  '11  bring  her  to  His  Father's  palace, 
Whose  portico  is  built  of  planets, 
And  He  shall  lead  her  to  the  gardens. 
No  tempests  and  no  storms  can  come  there, 
Nor  war's  alarms,  nor  sound  of  battles. 
There  are  no  lightnings,  there  no  thunders ; 
Shut  thence,  they  hiss  and  roar  in  Hades, 
Or  haunt,  with  storms,  the  earth  to  threaten. 
And,  driven  out  by  Love,  Fear  hideth 
With  men,  and  Hate  with  demons  dwelleth. 


BERNICE. 


Lo !  over  them  the  sky  hath  gone  away  ! 
Oh  !  Oh  !  How  wonderful !     How  beautiful ! 


And  by  the  river, 
Where  bloometh  evermore, 
In  groves  soft  breathing, 
The  eternal  tree  of  life, 
Shall  He  conduct  her, 
And  lead  her  by  the  hand. 
The  mantle  of  His  love 
Shall  cover  her  securely. 
7 


98  SALOME. 

She  shall  repose  in  bliss, 
And  never  more  be  weary. 


My  love,  what  dost  thou  see  ? 

THONA. 

She  heeds  thee  not. 

CHORUS. 

And  there  shall  she  be  crowned  with  glory, 
And  Joy  shall  shout  from  all  the  arches, 
And  Love's  sweet  essence,  Trust,  shall   guard 

her, 

And  heavenly  Peace  shall  be  her  pillow. 
She  shall  go  no  more  out  forever, 
Nor  ever  more  be  grieved  or  anxious. 
She  shall  no  more  remember  sorrow, 
But,   with  infinity  of  blessing, 
Within  His  arms,  upon  His  breast, 
Forever  and  forever  rest. 


They  come  !  —  the  clouds  !    Ah  !    No,  they  are 

not  clouds, 

But  angels  —  and  the  glory  over  them  — 
They  stretch  their  arms  to  me  —  I  cannot  lift 
My  hands.     O  blissful  Beauty  !  Love  !  O  Life  ! 

[Dies. 


SALOME.  99 


Ended  the  night,  the  morning  appeareth. 
Leaving  the  body,  which    pressed,  as  a  night 
mare, 

Trooping  temptations  and  sins,  and  accusals, 
Down  on  the  spirit  enthralled  and  in  anguish, 
Goeth  she  now  to  be  bathed  in  the  glory, 
Robed    with    the    righteousness,    crowned   with 

the  beauty 

Of  the  slain  Lamb,  the  Christ,  the  Redeemer. 
So  the  Eternal  day  for  her  beginneth. 


A  Mountain  overlooking  Jerusalem. 
TITUS  and  JOSEPHUS. 

JOSEPHUS. 

THY  purpose  gained,  and  all  the  city  viewed 
From    this  high   place,  I    pray  thee    grant   me 

leave 

To  stay  a  little  here  ;  and  pardon  me 
Some  natural  weakness,  as,  for  the  last  time, 
I  gaze  upon  that  city  and  that  Temple. 
Unfaithful  deem  me  not. 


Mourn  not  too  much 

Thy  country's  ruin.     Seek  to  know  the  will 
Of  thine  own  God,  whom  I,  too,  venerate. 

[Exit  TITUS. 
JOSEPHUS. 

O  thou  beleaguered  city !     O  thou  queen 
Disrobed,     imprisoned,     scourged,     defiled,     in 

chains, 

Mine  eyes  will  not  behold  thee  ;  veiling  mists 
Are  drawn  before  their  wounded  vision  ;   tears 


SALOME.  101 

Dissolve  thy  burning  image  in  my  brain. 
O  Zion,  loved  of  David,  O  thou  bride 
Of  Israel,  the  heathen  have  unloosed 
Thy  girdle,  and  have  gazed  upon  thy  beauty. 
Their    arms    encompassed    thee,  they  have  de 
spoiled  thee. 
For   thou   didst  wanton  with   them,    and    thine 

eyes 

Went  softly  after  them;  thy  smiles  invited. 
Thou    yearnedst   for    their  love ;  thy   lips    con 
fessed  it. 
Thou    madest    bare    thy    breasts ;    thy    shining 

feet 

Strayed  in  their  paths  ;  thy  white  hands  beck 
oned  them ; 

Thy  voice,  in  sighing  accents,  sang  of  love. 
Thy  spoilers  have  been  many  ;  thou  hast  thought 
Them  lovers,  but  they  were  thy  masters ;  now 
They  cast  thee  off  to  be  the  scorn  of  nations. 
Oh  woe  is  me  for  thee,  beleaguered  city  ! 
Oh  woe  is  me  for  thee,  thou  bride  of  Israel ! 
Thou  God  of  Abraham,  if  it  be  meet 
Thy  servant  should  Thine  awful  purpose  know, 
(.)  condescend,  from  Thy  dread  Dwelling  Place, 
To  send  Thv  messengers,  and  Thy  decree 

*•  c>  */ 

Reveal,  O  Holy  One,  if  it  may  be. 

Thine  answering  thunders  rush  along  the  sky  ; 

In  dread  expectance  on  my  face  I  lie. 


102  SALOME. 

Enter  an  OFFICER. 

OFFICER. 

My  Lord  — 

JOSEPHUS. 

How  now  ?  What  ?  would  the  general  march  ? 


He  sent  me  not,  —  but  please  thee  now  move  on. 
The  sun,  like  an  empyreal  ship  aflame 
On  an  empyreal  ocean,  goeth  down 
Far  from  the  shore  of  the  blue  firmament. 
The  clouds,  like  waves  white  crested,  black  be 
neath, 

Surge  round  him  with  tempestuous  turning  tides. 
The  earth  lies  still  with  awe.    The  valley  's  dim, 
Already,  with  the  slowly  moving  shadows, 
Night's  escort,  marching  up  the  mountain  side, 
With  banners  gold  and  scarlet  in  mid  heavens, 
To  seat  her  on  its  crest.     The  sky,  o'erhead, 
Is  clear ;  yet  is  there  something  in  the  air 
More  terrible  than  storms.     The  camels  look 
With  frightened  gaze   toward  heaven  and  snuff 

the  breeze, 

With  terror  trembling,  uttering  the  cry 
With  which  they  greet  the  yet  far  off  Simoom. 
The    dogs    crouch  low  and   whine  ;  the  horses 

snort, 
Toss  high  their  upright  manes,  with  eyes  aflame, 


SALOME.  103 

And,  hungry  as  they  are,  refuse  to  eat. 
Oh  let  us  go  ;  I  pray  thee,  let  us  go. 

JOSEPHUS. 

Hast  thou  heard  aught? 

OFFICER. 

Yea,  I  have  heard,  my  Lord, 
The  distant  rushing  sound  of  many  wings, 
The  heavy  thunder  —  now  again  it  rolls  !  — 

JOSEPHUS. 

Return  unto  thy  post,  and  there  await 
The  general's  orders. 

[Exit  OFFICER. 

Lord,  upon  my  face, 

If  I,  so  mean,  may  find  with  Thee  such  grace, 
Grant  unto  me  to  know  Thy  holy  will. 
In  midst  of  wrath  remember  mercy  still. 

A  VOICE  from  the  Jar  heights. 

Amen  ! 

Patience  cease. 

Vengeance  call  thy  chiefs. 

Send  the  winds  to  fetch  last  plagues ; 

Set  them  on  this  people  ;  on  their  heads 

Horrors  pour;  madden  them  with  woe. 

In  their  hearts  let  miseries  nest. 

Every  curse  exhaust. 

Do  thy  worst. 

Amen  ! 


104  SALOME. 

Enier  TITUS. 

TITUS. 

Josephus  !    What !  Joscphus,  come  away. 

JOSEPHUS. 

The  Lord  hath   spoken.     Let  the  Earth  keep 
silence. 

Voice  of  VENGEANCE,  descending. 

On,  Discord !     In  the  van  of  all  thy  force 
Place  Jealousy,  Ambition,  Envy,  Pride. 
Enrage  this  nation.     All  thy  terrors  move. 
Let  thy  fell  imprecations  fill  the  air. 
Tear  from  the  North  the  South,  from  East  the 

West. 
Thy    breast    by    thine    own    hands   be    riven  ; 

thence 

Let  tainting  vapors  every  eye  infest, 
That,  with  distorted  vision,  they  behold 
No  friends,  all  enemies,  and  all  assail. 
Let  thy  hot  breath  enflame  each  soul  with  hate. 

Phantom  of  DISCORD,  rising. 

Ay,  I  have  so  unstrung  their  polity 

It  sounds  but  dissonance.     Now  it  shall  grate, 

And,  of  itself,  scream  anarchy  and  woe, 

So  that  the  ears  of  Heaven  shall  deafened  be. 

[Passes. 


SALOME.  105 

Voice  of  VENGEANCE,  descending. 

War,  after  Discord  press  more  fiercely  on. 

Whet  up  thy  fangs,  and  sharpen  thy  red  claws. 

Move  with  the  front  and  seeming  of  a  man, 

But  with  a  dragon's  heart  and  ravening  maw. 

And,  to  the  fierceness  of  rapacious  beasts, 

Add  cunning  of  a  demon.     Cruelty 

Shall  guide  thy  steps,  Injustice  bear  thy  torch. 

Beset  this  people  ;  dig  a  trench  about, 

And  hedge  them  in  on  every  side.     Then  feed 

Until  satiety  shall  drive  thee  hence. 

Phantom  of  WAR,  rising. 

Licentiousness  shall  furnish  forth  the  feast, 
And  Passions  serve  it  up.     I  '11  eat,  I  '11  eat  — 
Ah  !  1  've  some  appetite.     I  '11  gorge  myself, 
And  disappear  when  naught  remains  to  crunch. 

[Posses 
Voice  of  VKNCKANCE,  descending. 

Go,  Famine,  lead  thy  latest  tortures  forth. 
Press  with  thy  skinny  hand  the  parching  throat 
More  closely,  pinch,  and  set  thy  stinging  teeth 
Deep  into  quivering  vitals  ;  sharply  gripe 
Each  separate  entrail  in  a  thousand  parts, 
Until  each  part  throb  with  a  thousand  pangs. 
Tax  Nature  to  the  utmost ;  yet  slay  not 
At  once,  but  tempt  with  every  loathsome  thing 
To  deep  defiling  crimes  against  their  laws, 
And  thus  to  condemnation  press  them  on. 


106  SALOME. 

Phantom  of  FAMINE,  rising. 

Give  !  give !  Oli  woe  !  Oh  woe !  I  go !  I  go ! 
I  '11  gnaw  thorn  to  the  bone,  —  I  '11  gnaw  !  I  '11 

gnaw ! 

I  'm  starving  —  I  am  flat  with  hunger.  —  Oh  ! 
I  '11  drink  their    slowly  wasting    blood.     Give  ! 

give  ! 

[Passes. 

Voice  o/"  VENGEANCE,  descending. 

Come,  Pestilence,  follow  thou  hard  upon 
The  heels  of  Famine.     Breathe  from  thy  gaunt 

cheeks 

Infectious  vapors.     Let  thy  rheumy  eyes 
Distill  from  their  deep  hollows  poisonous  dews. 
Shake  fevers  from  thy  dank  and  matted  hair, 
Where  they  lie  hidden.     With  thy  fingers  touch 
The  centre  of  each  joint,  and  racking  pains 
Implant  remediless.     Burn  eveiy  nerve, 
And  fix  blaspheming  horrors  in  their  souls, 
With    groans,    and    wails,    and    curses    tearing 

them. 

Phantom  of  PESTILENCE,  rising. 

All  noiseless,  swifter  than  the  comet's  flight, 
Along  the  setting  sun's  slant  rays,  the  moon's 
Uprising  beams,  I  move;  my  breath  attaints 
The  air.     Aha!  they  faint!  I  wither  them. 

[Passes. 


SALOME.  107 

Voice  of  VENGEANCE,  descending. 

Thou,  Conflagration,  be  not  over  fast. 

'  O  ' 

Conceal  thy  coal-red  feet  awhile  from  view 
In  mists  of  evening.     Gird  about  thy  loins 
Thy  smoky  mantle  that  it  seem  a  cloud. 
Thy  head,  with  its  disheveled  hair  of  flame, 
Repose  upon  the  setting  sun's  red  couch, 
Till  Discord,  Pestilence,   War,  Famine,  all 
Their  ills    exhaust  ;    then    come    thou  on    with 

Death 

Upon  thy  path,  or  hidden  in  thy  train, 
And  leave  him  naught  to  do  but  count  his  gains. 

Phantom  of  CONFLAGRATION,  rising. 

My  chariot  is  readv,  and  the  winds, 

My  snorting  coursers,  prance.     I  '11  hunt  them 

down  ; 
About    them   net-like  wreathe    my  lengthening 

arms ; 
And  gather  in  my  feast.     I  '11  gloat,  I  '11  glut. 

[Passes. 
Voice  of  VENGEANCE,  descending. 

Thou,  Desolation,  take  thy  silent  seat, 
When  Discord,  War,  and  Famine  from  the  place, 
And  Pestilence  and  Conflagration  pass. 
There  sit  alone  with  thine  unmoving  eye, 
And   blackened    feet,    and    moss-grown   nether 
limbs, 


108  SALOME. 

Their  scarred  and  bony  lengths   but  half  con 
cealed, 

And  ribbed  sides  o'ergrown  with  deadly  vines, 
And  naked  skull,   that  grins  the  skeleton 
Of  soft  and  beautiful  Prosperity, 
And  let  naught  human  near  the  accursed  spot. 

Phantom  of  DESOLATION,  rising. 

Ah  !  I  '11  be  still  enough.     I  will  not  move, 
Nor    wink.     Serpents   shall   fawn    on    me,    and 

bats  ; 

And  in  the  dismal  hollows  of  mine  ears 
The  screeching  owl,  unscared,  shall  build  its  nest. 

[Passes. 
A  VOICE  from  the  far  heights. 

Amen  ! 

Mercy  go. 

Weep  not  for  this  race, 

Doomed  to  wander  through  the  earth, 

Fainting  under  cross  and  under  scourge, 

Expiating  sin  that  reached  to  heaven, 

Till  in  judgment  He  shall  come 

Whom  they  scourged.     Go  forth: 

Comfort  His. 

Amen  ! 

TITUS. 

Whence  these  dread  forms  ?     Have  mine  eyes 

played  me  false  ? 
Roars  awful  Chaos  only  in  mine  ears  ? 


SALOME.  109 


The  Lord  hath  spoken  by  His  messengers, 
And  thou  hast  heard  their  voice,  hast  seen  their 

shapes. 

Go  on,  nor  hesitate,  for  thou  art  chosen 
The  instrument  of  the  Almighty's  vengeance. 
Into  thy  hand  the  city  is  delivered. 

[Exit  TITUS. 

Oh  woe  to  thee  !  alas  !  beleaguered  city. 
Oh  woe  to  thee  !  alas  !  thou  bride  of  Israel. 
Now  art  thou  left  alone,  alone,  O  Zion. 
Now  art  thou  cursed  and  fallen,  Loved  of  David. 
The  Judge  of  all  the  earth  hath  given  sentence. 
The  Judge  of  all  the  earth,  He  hath  condemned 

thee. 

Swift  burn  the  air  His  messengers  of  wrath. 
Tremble  in  silence  all  ye  gazing  worlds, 
And  veil  your  faces  that  ye  perish  not. 
Thou  Temple  of  the  Mighty  King,  whose  crest 
Bears  up  empyreal  glories ;  from  whose  heights 
Angels  alone  can  gaze,  nor  fall  adown 
The  unmeasurable  space  ;  whose  awful  steep 
Glares  dizziness  into  the  wildered  brain, 
And  reverence  on  the  soul ;  whose  dreadful  front 
No  mortal  eye  can  look  upon,  for  rays 
Which  burn  with  brightness  equal  to  the  sun's ; 
Within   whose  walls    the  Almighty  deigned   to 

place 


110  SALOME. 

His  covenant,  to  meet  His  chosen  people, 
Shall  we  ne'er  bow  again  toward  thee  to  wor 
ship  ? 

Must  all  thine  awful  grandeur  disappear 
Like  piles  magnificent  of  evening  clouds  ? 
Where    shall    we    worship  ?     How  address    our 
God? 

Enter  OFFICER. 


Are  they  all  gone  ?     I  own  I  was  afraid. 

JOSEPHUS. 

What  hast  thou  seen? 


Such  sights  as  freeze  the  blood 
In  warmer  veins,  and  crack  the  brain  apart, 
Break  the  foundations  of  the  judgment  up, 
And  blast  the  eyes :  forms  reaching  to  the  clouds, 
But  through  whose  ghastly,  ribless  sides  the  sun 
Looked  dully  from  the  west.     Up,  up,  they  came 
Like  smoke  from  Hades,  only  they  had  voice. 
And  such  a  voice  !  the  thunders  of  great  Jove 
Are  whispers  to  it  — 

JOSEPHUS. 

Where  wert  thou,  my  man? 


SALOME.  Ill 


I  dared  not  go  far  from  thee  —  I  was  near  — 


JOSEPHUS. 

Prepare  the  troop.     We  must  out-run  the  Eve 
To  Caesar's  camp. 

OFFICER. 

I  '11  go  at  once,  my  Lord. 
[Exit  OFFICER. 
JOSEPHUS. 

The  Lord  of  terrors  speaketh,  and  the  earth 
Shakes  at  His  voice.     Woe  to  him  who  with 
stands  ! 
Shall  man,  a  worm,    dare  speak  with   Thee,    O 

Lord  ? 
Let  me  adore  in  silence  at  Thy  feet. 

Enter  OFFICER. 

So  soon  returned,  my  friend  ?  What,  is  the  troop 
Afoot  ? 

OFFICER. 

It  truly  is,   my  Lord,  afoot. 
The  horses  had  more  wits  in  their  swift  heels 
Than  we  in  our  slow  heads,  for  they  had  wit 
Enough  to  set  their  ready  wits  to  work 
And  run  away ;  while  we  'd  but  wit  enough 
To  let  fright  addle  the   poor  wits  we  had, 
Till  we  were  frightened  off  our  feet,  and  then 


112  SALOME. 

Our  wits  as  well  were  in  our  heels  as  heads ; 
For  they  were  on  a  level,  —  useless  both. 
Ay,  verily,  my  Lord,  the  troop  's  afoot 
For  want  of  horses.     But  the  camels  did 
As  we,  lay  still  ;  and  for  their  wits,  like  us 
They  now  have  addled  wits,  that 's  us,  to  carry. 

JOSEPHUS. 

Come,  let 's  be  gone.     Lo  !  Titus  waits  for  us. 
The  air  is  fresh.     'T  will  do  us  good  to  ride. 


A  Dungeon. 
SEXTUS. 


IF  it  can  be  that,  in  the  better  world, 
Our  shades  may  know  each  other;  if  the  dead 
There  conscioiis  live  of  memory  and  love, 
Some  loving  prescience  shall  bid  her  come 
To  welcome  me  upon  the  heavenly  portals. 

0  joyous  hope  !   O  cheering  end  of  doubts ! 

1  am  an  old  man  young,  and  years  have  grown 
Too  heavy  on  me  ;  memory  is  full 

Of  disappointments ;  things  not  of  an  hour, 
But  poising  each  a  life.      O  welcome  end  ! 
Farewell,  ye  chill,  deriding  stars  who  Ve  mocked 
My  miserv  with  smiles  and  quivering  lids 
Winking  your  jeers.     Farewell,  thou  dry-eyed 

moon  : 

Thy  orb  looked  calmly  on.     Could  so  much  woe 
Nor    move    thy   showers,  nor  heave    thy    tides 

ashore  ? 

Farewell,  thou  staring  sun,  who  turned'st  not 
Thy  peering  eu/.?  from  fate  so  dark  and  mourn 
ful/ 


114  SALOME. 

I  leave  ye  all  and  go  the  way  to  life. 
Would  I  could  say  farewell  to  tlice,  O  Titus, 
As   thou,    returned,    slmlt    breathe    for   me,   at 

Rome, 

And  on  the  green  banks  of  the  Tiber,  oft, 
With  thy  dear  sighs,  a  loving  last  farewell. 

Enter  SALOME. 
SALOME. 

O  Sextus  ! 

SEXTOS. 

Who  art  thou  ?  the  place  is  dim  — 
That  voice  —  it  cannot  be  !  —  turn  to  the  light. 

SALOME. 

O  Sextus  ! 

SEXTUS. 

'T  is  !  Salome  ! 


Oh  !  at  last ! 

SEXTUS. 

Ah  speak  not,  lest  I  wake  and  find  this  too 
A  dream.     Yet  speak  and  let  me  know  I  dream 
not. 

SALOME. 

It  is  no  dream.     I  will  not  leave  thee  more. 


SALOME.  115 


Salome,  is  it  thee  I  hold  at  last  ? 

Or  hath  the  weariness  of  hope  deferred 

O'erthrown  my  reason  ?     Is  it  mockery 

Of  a  disturbed  fancy  ?     Doth  Despair, 

To  torture,  thus  deceive  me  ?    Art  thou  real  ? 

I  think  that  thou  art  real,  that  it  is  thou, 

Thou,  —  my  Salome.     I  'm  not  great  enough 

To  bear  the  joy  which  overwhelms  me  ;  no, 

Nor  can  I  grasp  not  e'en  the  hundredth  part 

Of  ecstasy  which  presseth  on  my  soul 

And  holds  it  still. 


O  Sextus,  feel  my  heart. 
There  is  but  one  that  beateth  thus  for  thee, 
And  that 's  Salome's.    Thou  wert  long  in  coming. 


A  thousand  ages,  love.     I  could  not  find  thee. 
I  've  given  the  lie  direct  a  million  times 
To  boding,  cold  Despair  —  rest  here,  my  life. 
Oh  for  ten  thousand  powers  of  consciousness ! 
So  I  could  feel  in  each  that  thou  art  mine, 
And  that  I  hold  thee  here,  here,  here,  Salome. 


But  tell  me,  Sextus 


116  SALOME. 

SEXTUS. 

What  is  it,  dear  soul  ? 

SALOME. 

Perchance   I    should   not    ask    thee  :    I    would 

know  — 
It  may  be  that  I  should  not  call  thee  mine. 

SEXTUS. 

Thine,  always  thine. 

SALOME. 

And  thou  hast  never  wed  ? 

SEXTUS. 

No,  never,  sweetheart. 

SALOME. 

Nor  hast  loved  another  ? 

SEXTUS. 

Oh  never  once,  my  life. 


I  am  so  fond ; 

I  who  should  be  so  humble  am  so  jealous. 
Oh  I  have  loved  thee  so. 


SALOME.  117 


Who  hath  loved  thee 
Could  never  love  another  ;  thee  I  loved, 
And  loving  once  loved  always.     Think  it  not 
A  faithful  constancy  of  love  in  me, 
But  constant  power  of  loveliness  in  thee, 
Whose  memory  hath  been  to  me  a  shrine 
Where  all  my  heart's  devotion,  satisfied, 
Hath  bowed,  and  never  sought  another  temple. 

SALOME. 

And  hast  thou  truly  loved  me  all  these  years  ? 
I  'm  so  unworthy  of  such  love,  I  think 
It  cannot  be,  save  when  thou  tell'st  me  so. 
So  tell  me  still,  so  make  me  still  believe. 
Oh  this  is  love,  outlasting  wrongs,  neglect, 
The  blights  of  absence,  frosts  of  hopelessness. 
I  knew  that  thou  wert  living,  for  Fame  told 
Thy  noble  deeds  e'en  in  the  forest  coverts, 
And  Hope  could  cherish  fires  of  constant  love. 
But  thou  didst  think  me  dead,  or  lost  for  aye  — 


Yet  felt  that  thy  loved  spirit  could  not  die, 
To  that  was  wedded,  nor  would  be  divorced. 
And  so  I  've  loved  but  thee. 


Oh  how  my  voyage 


118  SALOME. 

Across  life's  sea  liatli  dreary  been  and  void. 
"What  bring  I  to  the  haven  but  full  regrets? 
A  bark  so  freighted,  with  such  love  and  hopes, 
To  be  so  turned  from  the  desired  port, 
As  was  mine  own  by  mine  own  wicked  act, 
And  driven,  torn  by  currents,  adverse  winds, 
Its  precious  freight  in  the  first  gale  thrown  o'er, 
To  find   the    haven   but   now  when  worn    and 

wrecked, 
When  night  is  falling,  driven   by  a  tempest. 


It  is  not  night  for  us,  my  love.     My  breast 
Shall  be  thy  haven  ;   't  is  but  mid-afternoon. 
Our  sun  is  breaking  from  the  clouds  at  length. 
While  holding  thee,  Hope  brightens  all  the  future. 
And  when  our  evening  comes,  together  we, 
Still  lovers,  in  the  calm  and  peaceful  twilight, 
Still  pledging  our  fond  love,  will  go  to  rest. 


Oh  that  I  never,  never  had  fled  from  thee  ! 
Ah  !  I  have  dreamed  such  loving  things  for  thee 
That  I  would  do  ;  have  felt  my  heart  so  full 
Of  tenderness,  of  sympathy  and  love, 
All  cherished  as  a  hoarded  treasure  for  thee  ; 
Have  yearned  so  to  requite  thee  for  thy  wrongs, 
That  all  of  life  hath  seemed  to  me  too  short 


SALOME.  119 

For  what  love  would  have  done  for  thee  and  me. 
I  would  have  planted  roses  which  should  spring 
Beneath  thy  feet,  and  made  thee  a  sweet  bed 
Of  sweet  forget-me-nots  and  violets  ; 
Ta'en  off  thine  annor  when  thou  wert  aweary, 
And  wakened  thee  with  songs,  thy  slumbers 

o'er. 

But  now  the  journey  's  finished,  and,  alas  ! 
I    have    done    naught  for  thee  but  make   thee 

mourn. 

A  cloud  upon  thy  day,  and,  in  thy  night, 
A  haunting  sadness  —    Ah  !  I  know  it,  Sextus. 


But  these  dear  moments,  which  they  make  the 

dearer, 

Repay  the  sorrows  of  a  weary  life 
Of  waiting,  fading  hopes.     Thou  lovest  me, 
Hast  ever  loved  me  — 


Always,  always,  Sextus. 

SEXTUS. 

And  now  — 

SALOME. 

We  will  no  more  be  parted,  love. 
But  tell  me  — 


120  SALOME. 

SEXTUS. 

Tell  thee  what  ?     How  pale  thou  art ! 
And  worn  and  wasted  !  My  poor,  suffering  child. 

SALOME. 

How  wast  thou  made  a  prisoner  ?    By  whom  ? 


I  was  with  Titus  at  Antonia 
Reviewing  all  the  siege,   when,  suddenly, 
I  heard  a  mocking  voice  calling  my  name, 
And  taunting  me  with  loss  of  thee  in  Britain. 
It  was  Kaliphilus  — 


Kaliphilus ! 
And  here  ! 

SEXTUS. 

He  was  within  the  city,  and  I  leaped, 
Possessed   but   by    one    thought    and   wish    for 

vengeance, 

Alone  into  the  throng  of  armed  Jews, 
And  through  them,  yielding,  sought  iny  mock 
ing  foe, 

Who,  still  retreating,  drew  me  from  the  wall, 
Until,  assailed  upon  the  bloody  pavement 
By  the  returning  Jews  under  his  guidance, 
I  slipped  and  fell.     Thus  overthrown,  their  blows 


SALOME.  121 

Fell  like  a  shower  of  stones   upon  me  while 
Defending  still  myself,  as  best  I  could, 
And  slaying  many  of  them,  till,  at  length, 
My  helmet  was  displaced,  a  well  aimed  blow 
Drove  Consciousness  from  its   accustomed  seat, 
And,  when  it  had  its  rightful  throne  regained, 
I  was  a  prisoner;  Kaliphilus 
My  master.     Presently  some  soldiers  came 
And  brought  me  to  this  dungeon.     Scarce  two 

hours 

Have  taken  their  dread  record  from  the  earth 
Since  I  was  placed  here. 

SALOME. 

By  Kaliphilus! 

Oh   doth    he    haunt    us    still  ?     I  thought    him 
hence. 

SEXTUS. 

How  didst  thou  find  me,  love  ?     Or    art   thou 

here, 

By  fierce  compulsion  of  some  enemy, 
A  prisoner,  like  me  ? 


Compelled  by  love, 

I  came  to  thee  most  willingly.     Just  now 
Was  proclamation  by  a  herald  made 
That  thou  wert  prisoned  in  the  Castle,  and  — 


122  SALOME. 


And  that  at  dawn  I  should  be  crucified. 
But  be  not  troubled.     Titus  will  not  sleep 
Until  he  shall  take  vengeance,  for  lie  loves  me. 
And  now,  since  I  have  thee  and  fain  would  live, 
Hope  tells  me  that,  ere  morn,  we  shall  be  free. 
So  let  us  think  but  of  the  happiness 
Of  these  dear  moments,  each  well  worth  a  life. 


Oh  I  am  happy,  Sextus,  oh  !  so  blessed 
In  feeling  thy  dear  arms  again  about  me, 
And  once  more  resting  here  my  weary  head, 
Which  hath  found  rest  upon  no  other  pillow. 
But  dost  thou  know  —  how  could'st  thou  —  hast 

thou  heard 
That  I  'm  a  Christian  ? 

SEXTUS. 

Yea,  I  know  it,  love. 

SALOME. 

And  lovest  me  no  less  ? 


No  Jess,  my  own. 

And  art  thou  now  most  happy  ?    Is  there  naught 
Could  add  unto  thy  bliss  ? 


SALOME.  123 

SALOME. 

But  one  thing,  love. 

SEXTUS. 

And  that  is? 

SALOME. 

Could  I  know  that  thou,  too,  art 
A  Christian. 

SEXTUS. 

Then  be  blest,  for  so  I  am. 


Thou    art !     thou   art  ?     The    Lord   in  heaven 

be  praised. 

How  can  I  thank  thee,  Saviour  merciful? 
Accept  the  feeble  wishes  of  my  heart 
To  offer  Thee  some  better  service.     Now 
No  harm  can  any  more  come  to  us.     God, 
The  Lord  of  Israel,  's  a  mighty  tower 
Which  cannot  be  removed  ;  a  city  walled 
In  which  the  righteous  dwell  in  safety.      God, 
The  Lord  of  Israel,  's  a  strong  defense  ; 
With  shield  of  mercy,  sword  of  naming  wrath, 
He  guardeth  tenderly  His  children.     God, 
The  Lord  of  Israel,  will  not  forget, 
And  none  may  blind  Him  that  He  cannot  see, 
Nor  stop  His  ears ;  He  sleepeth  never.     God, 
The  Lord  of  Israel,  will  try  His  saints, 


124  SALOME. 

Yet  cometh  in  their  dire  extremity 

To  manifest  His  constant  love  and  jxr.ver. 

But  tell  me,  how  thou  didst  become  a  Christian. 


I  will  betimes  ;  but  first  recount  to  me 
Thy  story  since  that  dreadful  day  in  Britain. 
Canst  thou  forgive   me  ?     I    so    wronged   thee 
there. 

SALOME. 

Forgive  thee,  Sextus  ?     Fie  !  the  only  wrong 
Thou  ever  didst  me  was  to  ask  me  this. 


Oh  that  I  could  enfold  thee  in  my  being, 
Soul  of  my  soul,  and  heart  within  my  heart. 
Where    hast    thou    been  ?     Why  could    I    find 
thee  not? 

SALOME. 

Kaliphilus  bore  me  aboard  his  ship, 
Where  Thona  and  Bernice  were  already, 
At  once  set  sail,  but,  ere  AVC  reached  a  haven, 
We,  by  a  storm,  were  driven  on  the  coast 
Of  Germany,  made  captive  by  the  Germans, 
All  save  Kaliphilus,  who,  cursing,   fled 
With  cries  and  groans,  as  if  tormenting  fiends 
Were  driving  him.     His  slave,  an  ugly  thing, 
Was  bv  them  slain. 


SALOME.  125 

SEXTUS. 

May  furies  hunt  him  ever ! 


O  Sextus,  be  not  unforgiving. 


Canst  thou  forgive  him  ? 


What? 


Yea,  I  hope  so,  love. 
Our    captors   brought   us    straightway  to    their 

chief, 

Who,  smitten  with  distemper,  helpless  lay. 
Benignant  Mercy,  at  our  intercession, 
Restored  him  to  his  people  strong  in  health. 
Then  were  we  held  as  envoys  of  their  gods, 
And  kept  so  sacredly  that  no  escape 
Was  open  for  us.     Once,  when  Lepidus 
Had  almost  rescued  us,  by  chance  they  learned 
His  purpose,  bore  us  to  their  sacred  grove, 
In  depths  of  forests  inaccessible, 
And  guarded  us  from  all  approach,  save  that 
Of   their    own    chief    and    priests    and    loving 

people. 

SEXTUS. 

Friend  Lepidus  Id-ought  me  thy  letter,  sweet, 


126  SALOME. 

And    that    first    made    me    wish    to    know  the 

Christ. 

I  sought  out  Paul,  a   mighty  preacher,  then 
In  Rome,  who  kindly  led  me  to  His  feet. 
And  Lepidus  informed  me  how  he  found 
And    lost    you    in    the   wilds.     How  came  you 

thence  ? 


'T    was    after    many    months,   when   wars  had 

drawn 

The  tribe  upon  our  borders,  that,  one  day 
When  warriors  and  women  all  had  gone 
On  a  foray  into  a  Roman  province, 
Save  some  infirm  old  priests,  we  took  our  way 
Unto  the  nearest  Roman  fortress.     Long 

O 

And  wearisome  our  march,  guided  alone 
By  stars  at  night,  and  hidden  in  the  day. 
We  reached,  at  length,  an  outpost.     There  we 

learned 

That,  with  Vespasian  in   Palestine, 
Thou,  and  good  Lepidus,  Avert  in  the  field 
Against  the  warring  Jews.     But  one  wish,  then, 
Possessed  my  soul,  —  to  see  Jerusalem 
Once  more,  and  find  thee  here. 


My  faithful  love. 


SALOME.  127 


As  best  we  could  we  made  the  journey  thence 
To  Rome.     Nor  there  we  tarried,  for  a  company 
Of  forces  gave  us  escort  strong  to  Tyre, 
And  thence  we  came  unto  Jerusalem, 
Where  we  were  told  the   army  soon  would  be. 
I  went  to  kneel  before  the  sepulchres 
Of  Christ  and  John  the  Baptist ;  and,  with  tears 
And  many  prayers  and  fastings,  sought  anew 
Forgiveness,  and  fresh  zeal,  and  greater  love. 
Soon  I  fell  ill,  and,  ere  sweet  Health  upreared 
My  prostrate  form  and  led  me  from  my  couch, 
The  gates  were  closed.     Sedition  held  misrule, 
The  Roman  walls  encompassed  all  the  city, 
Egress  was  none,  nor  safety  anywhere. 


Oh  my  poor,  wearied  dove,  hast  thou  at  length 
Found  this  poor  ark  ?     But  it  shall  shelter  thee 
Until  the  floods  o'erwhelm  it,  or  the  storms 
Drive    it    to  wreck.     How   thou    hast    suffered, 

love. 

If  we  escape  the  dangers  of  this  night, 
As  let  us  hope  we  shall,  all  will  be  well. 


Ah  !  it  is  fatal !     I  shall  not  go  hence. 
His  will  be  done. 


128  SALOME. 

SEXTUS. 

What  words  are  these  ?     What  fears  ? 
What  see'st  thou,  love  ?     Why  dost  thou  gaze 

about 
As  if  thine  eyes  would  pierce  the  flinty  walls  ? 


This  is  the  dungeon  where  John  Baptist  died. 
I  knew  it  not  till  now.      Oh  't  is  decreed ! 
My  crime  looks  frowningly  upon  me. 


Hush ! 

Lift  now  thine  eyes  to  heaven  in  faith  and  see 
The  merciful  Redeemer  smiles   on  thee. 


Oh  let  Thy  mercy  pardon  me  that  crime  ; 
Oh  cleanse  me,  Saviour,  Thou  All-Pitying. 
'T  was  such  a  night  —  so  many  years  ago  — 
And  I  am  hither  led  —  but  not  by  Chance. 
Though     Justice     oft    comes     slowly,    yet    she 
comes  — 

SEXTUS. 

Away  these  sad  forebodings  !     Let 's  rejoice 
That  we  are  met ;  and  that  we  here  are  met. 
Let  it  be  sign  of  peace  and  joy  to  thee, 
A  proof  of  thine  acquittal.     Cheer  thee,  love. 


SALOME.  129 

Enter  a  GUARD. 
GUARD. 

Come  forth,  Salome.     Thou  art  ordered  forth. 

SALOME. 

What !  now  ?    So  soon  ?    I  cannot  leave  thee  — 

stay. 

Oh  kiss  me,  Sextus,  —  we  shall  surely  meet. 
Not  long  can  we  be  separated  now. 


Ah  !  will  they  tear  thee  from  me  ?    Still  a  kiss, 
My  bliss  on  earth,  and  guide  to  heavenly  bliss. 


The  Father's  peace,  passing  all  understanding  ; 
The  Son's  great  love,  redeeming  from  all  error ; 
The  Spirit's  comfort,  healing  every  sorrow, 
Be  with,  redeem,  and  comfort  thee  forever. 


A  Chamber  in  the  Castle. 
KALIPHILUS. 

KALIPHILUS. 

WILL  she  flee  from  me  now,  as  others  do, 
Though  I  approach  not  nor  attempt  to  woo  ? 
Ah  !  will  she  curse  me  ?     Shall  I  now  be  left 
Of  this  sole  hope,  my  comfort  sole,  bereft  ? 

Enter  GUARD,  with  SALOME. 

[Exit  GUARD 
SALOME. 

Kaliphilus  ! 

KALIPHILUS. 

Nay,  do  not  fly  —  't  is  vain. 
Yet  tremble  not.     I  will  not  harm  thee  —  stay. 
To  none  but  thee  can  I  my  woes  unfold. 
What !    Thou  dost  fear  me  too,  and  dread,  and 

hate  ? 

All  creatures  do,  and,  as  the  ages  roll 
Shall  they  more  fear,  and  hold  me  more  in  awe, 
Till  I  shall  fly  them.     No  way  can  I  turn 
And  feel  one  warming  ray  of  sympathy. 

SALOME. 

What  can  I  do  for  thee? 


SALOME.  131 

KALIPHILUS. 

Oh,  thou  canst  ease 
My  agony.     Let  me  but  talk  to  thee, 
Look  on   thee,  hear  thee   speak,  and  know  thy 

heart 
Doth  not  abhor  me. 


Ah  !    I  pity  thee. 
Thou  knowest  it  already,  and  I  pray  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

Pray  ?    pray  !    to  whom  ?    for  what  ?    for  me  ? 

Oh  fie  ! 
Pray  not  for  me. 

SALOME. 

Then  can  I  naught  for  thee. 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  have  so  suffered !     I  must  suffer  so  ! 
Unnumbered  ages  from  the  future  roll, 
Each  moment  of  each  age  an  endless  hell  ; 
Each  moment  of  the  past  an  endless  hell. 
For  lo  !  I  stand  within  my  memory, 
As  in  a  prison-house  of  heated  bronze, 
Whose  pictured  walls,  in  red-hot  characters, 
Look    on    me,  live,  speak,  move,  and   tear  my 
soul. 


132  SALOME. 


Turn  now  thy    thoughts  to  heavenly  things,  and 
then  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

See    how   they  throng !     I  cannot  name  them. 

All 
Are  clutching;  at  me,  and  in  vain  I  flee. 

~ 

For  every  crime  and  meanness  of  my  life 
Hath  there  a  visage  dread,  or  mocking  grin, 
And  arms,  like  mists,  to  reach  infinity, 
And    hands    of  heated    steel  which  snatch  my 

soul, 

And  drag  apart  my  brain,  and  rend  my  heart. 
But,   dreadfullest  of  all,  the  Eye  that  burns 
In  black,  impenetrable  Darkness,  which 
At  all  times  moves  before  me,  and  from  whence 
A  voice,  which  never  speaks,  forever  says : 
Bear  on  thy  burden  till  I  come  again. 

i-ALOMK. 

But  bear  it  penitently  and  with  patience  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

And  so  to  live  forever,  adding  still 

Each   hour    some    devil    crime,    some    haunting 

thought, 
Some  serpent  secret  at  my  heart  to  gnaw, 


SALOME.  133 

And  wreathe  its  deadly  coils  about  my  brain, 
To  those  which  torture  now. 

SALOME. 

What  shall  I  do? 
How  help  thee  ?     Why  complain  to  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

Why  complain  ? 

Why  do  I  humble  thus  myself  to  thee 
As  I  will  not  before  Omnipotence? 
Because  I  love  thee  — 


Pray  thee,  let  me  go  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

Because  when  thee  I  lose,  I  then  must  bear 
In  silence  evermore  my  agonies, 
Nor  pity  find,  nor  listening  sympathy, 
Affection  none,  nor  aught  but  awe  and  dread. 
I  will  not  harm  thee,  nay,  I  dare  not  do  it. 
Should  aught  but  reverent  love  for  thee  awake 
In  me,  't  would  rouse  ten  thousand  fiends  to  tear 
And  hunt  me  hence.     So  was    I    driven    from 

thee, 

When,  cast  upon  the  shores  of  Germany, 
I  fled  and  left  thee  unprotected  there. 


134  SALOME. 

SALOME. 

But  I  was  cared  for  by  Almighty  Love. 

KALIPHILDS. 

And  I  was  scourged  by  merciless  tormentors. 
I  wandered   through   the    savage  wilds  of  Eu 
rope, 
Through    northern    realms  of  Asia,  where  the 

snows, 

On  down-bent  branches  resting  of  low  trees, 
Make  them  appear  the  tents  of  Winter's  hosts 
Encamped,  and  waiting  for  the  signal  trump 
Of  storms,    reposing,    which    shall    lead    them 

south 

To  ravage  and  to  reign.     And  there  I   hoped, 
By  frosts  congealed,  to  grow  insensible, 
And  feel  no  more  my  doom.     A  lying  hope  ! 
Nor  cold  congeals,  nor  heat  can  melt  my  flesh. 
I  swore  to  end  myself,  defied  my  Judge  — 


Oh  spare  me,  I  would  hear  no  more,  unless 
Thou  dost  repent,  and  this  is  thy  confession  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

And,  walking  still,  I  reached  the  Eastern  bound 
Of  the  broad  continent,  where  yet  no  foot, 
Save  that  of  savage  beast,  or  man  more  savage, 


SALOME.  135 

Had  ever  trod.     But  there  I  stayed   not.     On 
Into  the  sea  I  fain  would  go,  that  there 
Its  raging  waves  or  monsters  should  destroy  me. 
But  all  in  vain.     I  walked  the  waters  as 
I  had  the  mountains  and  the  vales  of  snow, 
Till,  cursing  the  Omnipotence  which  held 
Me  thus  a  miracle  upon  the  surge, 
And  plunging  madly  on  the  unopening  waves 
To  force  an  ingress,  shrieking  blasphemies, 
And  hurling  fierce  defiance  at  His  Throne, 
Upon  a  sudden  fell  a  lightning  bolt, 
Which  opened  under  me  a  yawning  gulf, 
And  to  the  ocean's  farthest  depths  I  sank. 
The  waters  over  me  joined  with  a  roar 
As  of  a  thousand  thunders  met  in  battle, 
And  shut  me  from  the  hated  light  of  heaven. 

SALOME. 

Dost  thou  invent  a  tale  ? 

KALIPHILUS. 

Nay,  in  good  sooth. 

Still  could  I  see,   still  hear,  and  on  the  dark 
And  oozy  bottom  of  the  ocean  walk 
As    on    dry    land.      No    swimming    fish     e'er 

breathed 

The  watery  element  more  free  than  I. 
A  murmur  strikes  upon  my  startled  ear, 


136  SALOME. 

Increasing  ever,  growing  terrible, 
Surrounding  me,  and  coining  ever  nearer. 
And  now  I  see  the  monsters  of  the  deep 
Approaching.     From  each  side  all  living  things 
Which   swim  the  flood,  crawl  from  its  poison 
ous  slime, 

In  its  dark  caverns  lurk,  or  lie  in  wait 
Behind  its  weedy  crags,  in  horrid  phalanx 
Come  round  and  over  me,  and  roar,  and  hiss, 
And    shriek :    with    fins,  and    claws,  and    out 
stretched  tongues, 

And  long  arms  point  at  me,  and  still  the  noise 
More  hideous  grows,  and  seems  to  scream  the 

words, 

Cro  faster,  Jew  ;  go  faster.     Vainly  now 
Would  I  mount  up  and  reach   the  solid  earth. 
I  could  not  rise.     The  waters  over  me 
Pressed   like  the  world  on  fabled  Atlas'  shoul 
ders. 

SALOMK. 

And  didst  thou  then  repent? 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  scorned  the  thought. 

Upon  the  bottom  still  I  walked,  and  walked, 
In  agony  unspeakable,  while  dread 
And  loathing,  deathly  pains,  and  awe 
Convulsed    me.     Still    they  drove    me    on,  nor 
ceased 


SALOME.  137 

To  point  at  me,  and  leer,  and  lash,  and  sting, 
And  shriek,  and  hiss,  and  roar  in  hideous  chorus, 
G-O  faster,  Jetv  ;  go  faster.     On,  still  on, 
Through  fearful  valleys,  over  caverned  hills, 
By  shuddering  sea-groves  whence  new  horrors 

crawled, 

Each,  all,  from  every  side,  joining  the  hunt, 
I  passed,  nor  rested,  nor  could  rest,  nor  stop, 
A  time  which  seemed  ten  centuries  of  woe. 
At  last  I  climbed  a  long  and  steep  ascent, 
The  light  grew  greener,  paler,  brighter,  and 
The  watery  fiends  began  to  disappear. 
Then,  presently,  I  mounted  to  the  air, 
And  stood  alone  on  land,  where  from  my  feet 
The  ocean  westward  rolled,  and,  going  down, 
The  Sun  upon  a  watery  bed  reposed. 


Where  wert  thou  ?     In  what  land  ? 

KALIl'HILUS. 

That  knew  I  not. 

Had  I  been  driven  darkling  through   the  deep 
Around  the  Earth's  remotest  southern  cape 
To  stand  again  on  Europe's  western  shore  ? 
It  could  not  be,  for  I  had  wandered  o'er 
That    coast    from    north    to   south,  and  naught 
was  here 


138  SALOME. 

E'er  seen  by  me  before.     The  sun's  slant  rays 

A  myriad  of  tiny  stars  received 

Set  in  the  firmament  of  purest  snow, 

Which    covered    all    the    land.      I    southward 

turned, 
And    wandered    on    in    haste    still    southward, 

southward, 

Through  climes  which  ever  grew  more  genial, 
Until  in  tropic  heats  I  stood.     The  Sun 
Above  me  drove  his  glowing  course  athwart 
The  zenith.     All    around    me    strange    flowers 

bloomed, 

Such  as,  in  Paradise,  our  parents  saw. 
And    birds,  which    looked    like    flying    flowers, 

rejoiced 

In  every  tone  of  music.     Beasts,  unseen 
Till  then  by  me,  there  reveled  in  wild  life, 
But    left    their    prey,  their    quarrels,  and  their 

sports 

To  join  in  one  discordant  chorus,  howling, 
As  me  they  chased,   Cro  faster,  Jew ;  go  faster. 
The  reptiles  hissed  and  roared,    Go  faster,  Jew, 
The    birds,    from    dark    clouds,    screamed,     Gro 

faster,  Jew. 

On,  on  I  went,  the  Sun  his  daily  course 
To  northward  guiding  more  and  more  each  day, 
And  temperate  warmth  succeeded  tropic  heats. 
By  cloud-capped  mountains,  through  vast  plains 
,      and  meadows, 


SALOME.  139 

Across  deep  rivers,  whose  wide  floods  appeared 
Like  broad  and  endless  lakes,  in  which  the  tides 
Flowed  but  one  way  in  never  ceasing  currents, 
I  passed,  till  Frost  o'er  snows  and  realms  of  ice 
Held  constant  sway,  and  breathed  on  all  his  cold. 
And  now  the  sun  drove  swiftly  through  the 

north. 

I  back  returned  to  where  I  first  set  foot 
Upon  this  new  world  ;  thence,  across  the  main, 
To  shores  of  Asia  and  the  old  world  came. 
Whence,    through    more    southern    climes,    to 

Germany 
I  went  in  search  of  thee  — 


Forget,  I  beg  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

~I  sooner  could  forget  my  doom  than  thee 
Who  caused  it.     Thence   I  traced  thee  slowly 

hither. 
When    death    shall    summon    thee    beyond  my 

reach 

To  that  new  world  will  I  return,  and  bear, 
As  Jupiter  Europa  o'er  the  sea  — 
The  story  is  by  Grecian  poets  told  — 
Some  fair  companion,  and  these  wilds  shall  be 
Peopled  by  us  with  wanderers  like  me. 
Oh  I  '11  beget  a  cursed  and  rebel  race  — 


1 40  SALOME. 


Oh.  let  me  go.     I  pray  thee,  let  me  go. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Salome,  for  this  hour  I  Ve  waited  years. 
Be  not  unkind.     The  only  rest  I  hope 
Until,  in  judgment,   He  shall  come  again, 
Is  talking  thus  with  thee.     Come  to  this  window. 
Behold  these  wretches  fly  the  boon  I  crave. 

CHORUS  icithout ;  PKIESTS,  in  sackcloth  passing. 

Help,  Lord. 

The  storms  increase  ! 

Will  anger  never  cease  ? 

Deals  Justice  now  the  stern  award  ? 

Out  of  the  depths,  O  Lord,  we  call. 

The  billows  over  us ! 

They  cover  us  ! 

We  fall ! 

[Exeunt  PRIESTS. 
Enter  JEWS,  flying. 
CHORUS  without,  JEWS. 

Pursued  !  pursued  of  God  ! 
Ah  !     No  escape  ! 
At  His  almighty  nod 
.  Lo !  wrath,  in  fiery  shape, 
From  His  pavilion  dark 
Rides  forth  and  shakes  the  ground 


SALOME. 

By   its  dread  going,  —  hark  ! 

With  hiss  and  swoop  and  thunder  sound 

It  cometh!  fly!     Oh  fly! 

Red  vengeance  rushes  on  us  from  the  sky  ! 

[Exeunt  JEWS,  flying. 

SALOME. 

Is  this  a  time  to  woo  and  tell  me  tales 
When  thou  couldst  aid   thy  wretched  country 
men  ? 

KALIPHILUS. 

Aid  but  by  killing,  curse  by  guarding  life. 
They  know  not  what  they  fear,  nor  what  they 

wish. 

The  Almighty  surely  laughs  to  see  the  fools 
So  blindly  fleeing  sure  relief  from  torture. 
Now  is  their  fear,  now  their  calamity. 
Js  this  a  time  to  woo  ?     I  tell  thee,  woman, 
All  times  to  me  are  like.     Now  must  I  woo 
While  I  can  make  thee  listen  to  me.     When 
Thou  shalt  have  passed  unto  the  realms  of  rest, 
Naught  shall  remain  for  me,  until  He  come, 
But  to  be  great  as  was  my  daring,  ay, 
And  like  a  devil  bear  my  punishment, 
Meet  for  a  devil,  walking  to  and  fro, 
And    up    and    down    the    earth    in  haught  en 
durance. 

The  agony  that  breaks  and  crushes  me 
Down  like  an  ^Etna,  wrath  of  the  Infinite, 


142  SALOME. 

Shall  find  no  voice,  nor  shall  I  more  complain, 
But  vent  my  anguish  in  great  deeds  of  spite  ; 
Desiring  all  things,  friendship,  enmity, 
Love  without  awe,  and  hatred  without  dread, 
Ay,  parents,  brothers,  sisters,  children,  youth, 
The  sweet  and  natural  coming  on  of  age, 
And  wounds,  and    sickness    unto  death,  death, 

death,  — 

All,  any  thing  which  might  make  me  a  man 
Like  others  among  men,  and  all  in  vain. 

SALOME. 

Thou  may'st  be  loved  ;    do  good,  be  kind  and 
true. 

KALIPHILUS. 

The  dupe  of  many,  the  desire  of  few. 

SALOME. 

Let    Conscience    tell    thee  that  thou  hast  done 
well. 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  care  not  what  the  bigot  Conscience  tell. 

SALOME. 

Instead  of  ill,  plot  good,  if  plot  thou  will. 


KALIPHILUS. 


'T  is  His  decree  that  evil  I  plot  still. 


SALOME.  140 

I  am  accursed  all,  save  my  love  for  thee, 
Which  is  divine,  so  from  the  curse  is  free. 
When  once  that  love  is  taken  from  my  heart, 
I  shall  be  cursed  and  devilish  every  part. 


But  I  have  prayed  for  thee,  shall  pray  for  thee. 
Bernice,  too  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

Bernice  ! 

SALOME. 

Thou  'st  not  asked 
For  her. 

KALirHILUS. 

I  loved  her  once.     Oh,  she  was  fair, 
When  in  her  native  valley  I  beheld  her,  — 
The  fairest  blooming  flower  of  womanhood. 

SALOME. 

But  she  is  dead. 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  know  it. 


Died  to-day. 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  know  it. 


144  SALOME. 

SALOME. 

In  the  city  hero. 

KALIPIIILUS. 

I  know  it. 

SALOME. 

She  bade  me  say  that  she  had  ever  loved  thee. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Tell  me  not  of  it.     What !  will  thou  smite  too  ? 
Is  she  not  with  the  rest  pursuing  me  ? 

SALOME. 

Since  I  can  naught  for  thee,  oh  send  me  hence. 

KALIPIIILUS. 

But  thou  canst  aught  for  me.     Give  me  one  kiss. 
Oh,  shrink  not  from  this  prayer.     Give  me  one 

kiss. 

SALOME. 

A  kiss  of  charity  thou  askest  not: 
A  kiss  of  love  to  thee  I  cannot  give. 

KALIPHILUS. 

What!    Shall  I  take  it?     Know  that  thou  art 

mine, 
A  prisoner. 

SALOME. 

And  hast  thou  dared  to  woo 
And  talk  of  love  to  one  thou  hast  beguiled  — 


SALOME.  145 

KALIPHILUS. 

Nay,  come,  forget  that,  by  his  subtlety, 

Love  brought  thee  here  to  throne  thee  in  my 

life. 

This  rule  queen  absolute,  as   Rome  the  world. 
Be  not  Mount  Zion,  beauty  of  the  earth, 
Obdurate,  trembling  in  the  arms  of  force. 

SALOME. 

Cease,  cease,  thy  words  are  vain.     I  hear  thee 
not. 

KALIPHILUS. 

But  thou  must  hear,  Salome  ;  I  must  speak. 

The  dignity  of  man's  true  love  compels 

A  hearing.     Brief  my  speech.     I  coin  no  words 

To  jingle  sweetly.     Baby  loves  may  choose 

A  wordy  effervescence ;  I  will  pour 

The  unstirred  liquor,  clear  and  deep  and  strong. 

I  love  thee  — 

SALOME. 

If  thou  lov'st  me  let  me  go. 
So  shalt  thou  prove  thy  love. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Thou  shalt  not  go. 

With  me  is  Love  no  coward.     Men  for  love 
Dare  death.     My  love  dares  greater  things  and 
worse. 

10 


146  SALOME. 

SALOME. 

Approach  me  not  lest  pity  turn  to  scorn. 

KALIPHILUS. 

The  oil  of  that  sharp  scorn  feedeth  the  fire 
Which  heateth  me,  and  setteth  it  to  flame. 
Ah  !  I  will   have  thee,  thy  disdain,  thy  pride ; 
For  thou  shalt  be  all  mine,  yea,  every  sigh 
I  '11  seize  escaping  from  thy  parted  lips 
As  would  a  conqueror  escaping  men 
From  citadels  on  fire.     Cold  as  thou  art 
With  haughtiness,    I  '11  make    thee    glow   with 

love, 
And  sigh,  and  weep  ;  for  tears  shall  from  thee 

fall 

As  sho^rs,  for  very  heat,  in  summer;  yea, 
I  '11  woo,  I  '11  swear,  I  '11  promise  like  a  lover. 
Thou    shalt    be    mistress,    queen,    ay,   empress, 

more, 

Most  difficult  of  all,  thou  shalt  rule  me, 
Kaliphilus  un conquered.     I  will  know 
No  difference  betwixt  thy  flesh  and  mine, 
Save  that  thine  own  's  immeasurably  dearer. 
Yea,  saw  I  Hades  in   thy  dark  eye's  depths, 
And  waves  of  fire  where  glow  thy  haughty  lips, 
I  would  embrace  thee.    But  thine  eye  is  heaven, 
Thy    mouth    a    fount    of   nectar.     Yield    thee, 

yield. 


SALOME.  147 

SALOME. 

If  thou  art  man,  thou  wilt  no  more  offend 
My    sense    with    words    unseemly ;  if  thou  art 

brute, 

Thy  words  are  roarings,  made  but  to  express 
The  rage  of  passion.     Talkest  thou  of  love  ? 
Thou  hast  no  symptom  of  that  sweet  disease. 
Thou  canst  not  know  it  for  thou  dost  not  feel  it : 
It  is  the  malady  of  noble  natures. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Old  Antony,  to  win  his  cup  of  love, 
Dissolved  an  empire  in  't,  and  drank  it  down, 
And    felt   more    life   glow  through  his  swelling 

veins 

In  one  swift  moment  of  that  thrilling  draught 
Than  in  a  thousand  years  of  kingly  rule. 
I  would  outdo  him,  for  mV  love  is  greater. 

*/  O 

I  go  not  hence  without  thee.     Pray  thee,  yield. 


I  will  not. 

KALIPHILUS. 

If  thou  stay,  thou  here  shalt  perish, 
For  Simon  holds  thee  on  the  capital  charge 
That  thou  art  Christian. 


This  by  thy  contriving. 


148  SALOME. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Be  mine,  I  '11  save  thee  ;  and,  for  thy  dear  sake 
I  will  save  Sextus  — 


I  will  ne'er  be  thine. 

Avaunt !  fell  schemer.     'T  is  thine  ancient  snare. 
To  save  my  Sextus'  life  I  did  such  wrong 
As  Heaven  weeps  at ;  hence  come  all  my  woes. 
To  save  my  father's  life  again  did  wrong. 
I  can  do  so  no  more.     God's  will  be  done. 


KALIPHILUS. 


If  thou  yield  not,  then  take  I  thee  by  force. 


Lift  not  thine  hand  upon  me.     For  the  Lord 

Omnipotent,  in  mercy  infinite, 

Is  infinite  in  wrath.     Look  to  thyself. 

He  will  protect  all  those  that  trust  in  Him. 

Thy  words  are  daring ;  let  thy  words  suffice. 

Thou  durst  not,  by  thine  acts,  profane  His 
image. 

Thou  durst  not,  by  thine  acts,  defy  my  trust 

In  Him.  He  's  ever  near  me.  Fear  His  ven 
geance. 

Shrink  back  in  shame  that  thou  would 'st  un 
dertake 


SALOME.  149 

An    act    of  meanness  which    the    devils  would 

scorn. 
Ay,  to  thy  knees  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

To  pray  thee  pardon  me  — 

SALOME. 

And  ask  His  pardon  whom  thou  would'st  offend. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Her  power  of  virtue  awes  my  daring  soul. 
Yet  will  I  have,  subject  her,  and  control. 

Enter  SIMON  and  attendants. 


Behold !  a  dread  portent  is  in  the  sky  ! 
In  middle  heavens  a  blazing  sword  is  hung 
Above  the  city,  lengthening  ever  down. 
Like  a  whole  world  in  conflagration  burns, 
Over  the  Temple  in  the  western  sky, 
A  comet,  and  its  flames,  athwart  the  pole, 
In  lurid  brightness  stream.     Stars  fall  in  show 
ers, 

Although  the  blood-red  sun  be  not  yet  set, 
As  if  the  Almighty's  breath,  a  raging  storm, 
Shook  them  mature  from  their  empyreal  stems. 
O  come,  behold  it.     Tell  us  what  it  means. 


150  SALOME. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Return  her  to  the  dungeon  ;  guard  her  well. 

[SALOME  is  led  out. 
I  '11  go  with  thee,  and  what  I  can   will  tell. 


A  Dungeon. 

SEXTUS  and  SALOME. 

SALOME. 

KALIPHILUS  hath  ta'en  us  in  his  net. 

SEXTUS. 

But  Titus  surely  shall  undo  his  cunning. 

SALOME. 

Let 's  trust  in  Him  who  only  can  redeem. 

SEXTUS. 

Oh  could  I  see  the  lances  of  my  legion ! 

SALOME. 

Let  thoughts  of  vengeance  enter  not  thy  soul. 

SEXTUS. 

When  hither  brought  a  prisoner,  I  repined 
That  so  my  life  must  end,  which  should  have 

failed 
Or  in  the  battle-field,  or  in  thine  arms  ; 


152  SALOME. 

Yet    had,    with    sweet  contentment,    welcomed 

death. 

But  since  thou  earnest  to  me,  as  the  angel 
Deliverer  to  the  Apostle  came, 
The  chains  Despondency  had  wrought  upon 
My  limbs  have  fallen  ;  what  was  dark  is  light. 
I  doubly  am  content  to  live,  and  Hope 
Spreads  her  bright  wings  and  buoys  my  spirit 

up- 

Enter  THONA. 

THONA. 

The  guards  permit,  oh  let  me  stay  with  thee. 

SALOME. 

Rash  children  !  have  ye  come  to  die  with  me  ? 

Enter  CHORUS,  Christians. 

CHORUS. 

Behold! 

In  arms  of  gold 

Squadrons  and  hosts  of  soldiers  move 

Upon  embanked  clouds  above 

The  western  sun  ; 

And  chariots  run 

To  battle  in  the  sky  ; 

And  conquered  myriads  fly 

From  flaming  cities  falling ; 

About  them  clouds  with  blood  orow  red, 

o  * 


SALOME.  153 

Like  a  well  foughten  field 
Where  hosts  on  hosts  are  fiercely  led, 
The  lookers-on  appalling. 
And  engines  wield 
The  huge  artillery  of  war, 
And  smite  the  crumbling  towers  from  far. 
The  people  mute  with  terror  stand, 
The    useless    brand    falls    from    the    nerveless 
hand. 

Enter  MARAH. 


Why  stay  ye  here  ?    The  guards  with  fear  are 

faint, 

And,  to  behold  portents  upon  the  clouds, 
Have  left  their  posts  unguarded.     Up  I    away  ! 
What,  know  ye  not,  ye  both  in  the  same  snare 
Are  taken,  and  are  held  for  present  death  ? 
Kaliphilus  with  Simon  hath  conspired 
Against  your  heads.     By  seeming  to  accede, 
As  an  accomplice  in  their  wicked  plot, 
I  know  of  what  I  speak.     Fly,  fly  at  once. 
The  way  is  open.     Seek  your  hiding  place. 
Delay  not.     Look  that  ye  shall  leave  no  trace 
For  their  blood-hounds  to  follow.     Once   more 

free, 
For  succor  and  for  safety  trust  to  me. 


154  SALOME. 


O  Sextus,  fly,  and  Thona  shall   conduct  thee, 
Cinder  God's  guidance,  to  a  place  of  safety. 
Once  there,  consult  ye  further.     I  will  stay, 
And  thus,  perchance,  their  hot  pursuit  delay. 


Nay,  thou  shalt  not 


Be  governed  now  by  me, 

And    thou    shalt    free    me   when  thou  shalt  be 
free. 


'T  is  better  thus,  would  ye  the  current  stem 
Of  rolling  dangers  — 


Dear  love,  go  with  them. 


Why  wilt  thou  linger  ?     Men  for  reason  slow, 
For  swift  wit  women.     Haste  thee,  let  us  go. 

SEXTUS. 

Come  thou,  Salome,  I  will  find  a  sword  — 


SALOME.  155 

MARAH. 

One    sword,    e'en    thine,    against    this    raging 

horde  I 
'T  is  mine   to   care   for    her.     Nay,  leave  her, 

come. 


What !  leave   thee,  child  ?     What,  leave  thee, 

my  own  love  ? 

What !  I,  a  man,  a  soldier,  leave  my  love 
Here  in  this  den  of  wolves  to  escape  myself? 
It  cannot  be.     Go  thou,  or  I  go  not. 


Nay,  Sextus,  trust  to  Marah.  Her  sharp  wit 
Shall  like  a  sharp  tooth  gnaw  the  hunter's  net 
And  set  the  lion  free ;  and,  when  thou  art  free, 
Then  use  thy  manly  strength  and  soldier's  skill 
To  free  me  also.  So  shall  both  be  saved. 
It  is  my  wish.  O  Sextus,  I  entreat  — 

SEXTUS. 

What  shall  I  do? 

MARAH. 

Haste,  ere  the  guards  return. 

SEXTUS. 

So  leave  thee,  so  desert  — 


156  SALOME. 

SALOME. 

So  rescue  me. 

SEXTUS. 

Love  hath  so  riveted  mine  arms  about  thee 
I  cannot  let  thee  go. 

MARAH 

Art  thou  a  Roman  ? 
Thy  women  would  upbraid  and  cry  thee  shame. 


Go,  Sextus,  go  ;  soon  shall  we  meet  again. 
It  is  thy  duty,  Sextus. 

SEXTUS. 

One  more  kiss. 

I  go  because  thou  will'st  it  —  still  a  kiss, 
And  if  it  be  the  last  one  — 

MARAH. 

Haste  thee,  haste. 

SEXTUS. 

Farewell,  Salome.     Oh,  I  am  ashamed 

To  leave  thee  thus.     Be  of  good  courage,  love. 

SALOME. 

God  bless  thee,  Sextus ;  now  thou  lovest  me. 


SALOME.  157 

SEXTUS. 

I  go,  my  own  love,  but  to  rescue  thee. 

SALOME. 

Go,  all,  my  children ;  tarry  not,  but  fly. 

[Exeunt  SEXTUS,  MAKAH,  THONA,  and  CHOKUS. 

It  may  suffice  for  all  if  I  should  die. 


A  Hall  in  the  Castle. 

SIMON,  OFFICERS,  GUARDS,  and  ATTENDANTS. 

SIMON. 

BRING  here  the  prisoners. 

[Exeunt  FIRST  OFFICER  and  some  GUARDS. 
We  '11  question  them  ; 
Arraign  Salome  on  the  capital  charge 
That  she  is  Roman,  and  hath  been  concealed, 
The  spy  of  Titus  and  confederate, 
Within  the  city ;  then,  with  show  of  mercy, 
Entice  from  her  all  knowledge,  which  she  owns, 
Of  Roman  dispositions  and  affairs ; 
And  when    she    shall    have  won    the    promised 

grace 

By  so  accepting  our  so  proffered  terms, 
Betraying  to  us  all  her  master's  plans, 
Shall  it  be  proven  that  she  is  a  Christian, 
And  hostile  to  our  state  and  our  religion, 
A  plotter  for  the  nation's  overthrow, 
And,  for  these  practices,  shall  be  condemned, 
And  with  her  Sextus,  to  be  crucified. 

Enter  FIRST  OFFICER  and  GUARDS,  with  SALOME. 

But  where  is  Sextus  ? 


SALOME.  159 

FIRST  OFFICER. 

Sextus  hath  escaped. 


FIRST  OFFICER. 


Escaped ! 

Escaped,  my  Lord. 


Go,  take  his  guards, 

And  cast  them  headlong  to  the  Romans.  Halt ! 
See  that  thou  take  them  to  the  highest  tower 
And  cast  them  thence. 


FIRST  OFFICER. 


My  Lord,  it  shall  be  done. 

[Exeunt  FIRST  OFFICER  and  some  GUARDS. 
SIMON. 

Call  out  thy  men,  and  search  the  city  through, 
Discover  Sextus,  or  see  me  no  more. 

[Exit  SECOND  OFFICER. 

Salome,  it  is  known  thou  art  a  Roman, 
And  that  thou  hast  within  the  city  been 
Concealed,  the  spy  of  our  detested  foes, 
The  spring  of  their  obduracy  and  spite. 


'T  is  true,  I  have  within  the  city  dwelt, 


160  SALOME. 

Constrained,  like  others,  by  the  unyielding  siege, 
Yet  peacefully  ;  nor  with  affairs  of  state 
Nor  war's  great  questions  have  I  mingled,  but, 
As  best  I  could,  have    succored  the  distressed. 


The  mercy  shown  to  Hebrews  who  escape, 
And  flee  unto  the  Romans,  should  we  show. 
Look  from  the  wall,  behold  on  every  tree 
A  Jewish  body  crucified.     The  vales 
Are  pestilent  with  odors  from  the  corpses 
Of  Jews  ripped  up  that  Roman  soldiers  in  them 
Might  seek  for  plunder ;  and  the  air  is  full 
Of  sighs,  and  groans,  and  supplications,  cries 
Of  agony,  and  sounds  of  swinging  scourges. 


I  know  the  scene  is  dreadful,  yea,  I  know  it. 
Ah !  would  that  I  could  stay  such  cruel  deeds ! 
But  I  can  only  pray  that  wars  may  cease. 


That  thou  art  Roman  is  thy  condemnation. 
The  more  since  it  appears  that  thou  didst  aid 
The  prisoner  Sextus  to  escape  — 


Alas ! 
I  could  not  aid  him. 


SALOME.  161 

SIMON. 

Knowest  thou  who  did  ? 
Why  answerest  thou  not?     Speak  out. 

SALOME. 

I  know. 

SIMON. 

And  whither  he  hath  fled  ? 


How  could  I  know 
Since  I  went  not  with  him  ? 

SIMON. 

Question  thou  not. 

And  wert  thou  privy  to  his  purpose  ?    Speak, 
Knew'st  thou  where  he  would  go  ? 

SALOME. 

I  heard  them  say. 


Then  tell  us  quickly. 


SALOME. 

Nay.     I  may  not  tell. 


11 


162  SALOME. 


SIMON. 


Know'st  thou  the  names   of  those  who  helped 
him  hence  ? 


SALOME. 

I  know  them. 


What  are  they? 


I  may  not  tell. 

SIMON. 

Beware !  beware  !     Now  makest  thou  thyself 
Confederate  with  them.     Look  thou,  Salome, 
It  is  our  purpose  to  deal  gently  with  thee. 
Although  the  charge,  that  thou  art  Roman  here, 
Now  stands   confessed,  it    shall   not   work   thee 

harm 

If  thou  wilt  but  inform  us  what  thou  knowest 
Of  Sextus,  and  of  those  who  took  him  hence, 
And  of  the  plans  and  forces  of  the  Romans. 

SALOME. 

The  plans  and  forces  of  the  Romans  are 
To  me  unknown.     I  came  not  here  to  war, 
Nor  to  engage  in  stratagems  and  wiles. 


But  thou  canst  tell  us  of  the  plot  to  rescue 


SALOME.  103 

Our  prisoner ;  who  was  the  chief  contriver, 
And  who  the  assistants.     So  shalt  thou  escape 
The  penalty  due  to  thy  presence  here. 


I  would  not  so  escape. 


SIMON. 

Dost  thou  refuse  ? 


I  do. 

SIMON. 

Think  well.     For  now  these  many  years 
The  Romans  are  our  masters  and  instructors. 
And  they  have    taught   us  all  the  arts  of   tor 
ment. 

Its  bloody  characters  are  writ  upon 
Our  bodies  till  we  are  its  library, 
And  ne'er  magician  had  so  dreadful  books. 
Now,  like  ambitious  youths  just  from  the  school, 
We  burn  for  fit  occasion  to  employ 
The     skill    we  've    learned    upon    our    skillful 

teachers. 

We  thirst  to  be  revenged,  in  kind,  upon 
The  Romans.     Be  not  thou  the  victim  first 
Who  shall  encounter  all  this  raffino-  thirst. 


164  SALOME. 

SALOME. 

I    cannot   tell   thee    aught   that   thou   would' st 
know. 

SIMON. 

Yea,  thou  canst  tell  us  whither  Sextus  fled. 


I  may  not. 

SIMON. 

May  not?     May  not?     Wilt  not. 

SALOME. 

Will  not. 

SIMON. 

Then  shall  thine  obstinacy  cost  thee  dear. 
Thou  art  a  Christian  :  canst  thou  this  deny  ? 

SALOME. 

I  am  a  Christian. 


By  thine  impious  acts 

The  city  is  accursed,  and  shall  be  ruined, 
Unless  a  punishment,  meet  for  thy  crimes, 
Be  brought  upon  thee ;  or  a  sacrifice 
Be  made  atonement  for  thy  forfeit  life. 
If  thou  shalt  guide  our  search  to  Sextus,  and 
The  traitors  who  have  rescued  him,  thy  life 


SALOME.  165 

Shall  be  redeemed  by  theirs,  and  thou  shalt  go 
In  freedom  to  the  Romans.     Wilt  thou  so  ? 


I  will  not.     Naught  that  human  power  may  do 
Can  save  this  city.     Know  that  it  must  fall ; 
But  not  by  acts  of  Christians.     Their  great  Head 
Pronounced    its    doom    for    manifold    transgres 
sions, 
And  when  ye  see  it  come  to  pass,  believe. 


Thou  hast  condemned  thyself;  for  ye,  to  prove 
Prophetic  power  of  that  Impostor  now 
Would  cause  fulfillment  of  His  prophecy, 
E'en  by  destruction  of  this  holy  city. 
But  thou  shalt  not  escape  due  punishment, 
Yet  shalt  discovery  make  of  that  vile  treason 
Which    lurketh    in    our   midst,  and    hath    pre 
vailed 

To  snatch  this    Sextus    from  the  grasp  of  ven 
geance. 

But  Vengeance  hath  long  arms  and  many  hands, 
And  many  ears,  and  many  eyes  that  sleep  not. 
Return,  and  in  thy  dungeon  see  prepared 
The  torture  which  shall  draw  thy  secrets  out. 
Ay,  thou  shalt  cry  those  secrets  out  so  loud, 
The  Roman  camp  shall  hear  itself  betrayed. 


166  SALOME. 

And,  that  no  point  of  anguish  be  o'erlooked, 

I  will,  myself,  be  executioner, 

And  I  will  question  thee  upon  the  rack. 

I  have  a  fecund  and  a  ready  wit 

Which  shall  not  fail,  though  ne'er  so  strongly 

locked, 

To  ope  the  doors  of  that  defiant  castle 
Where    thou    dost    guard    thy    hidden,    guilty 

knowledge. 

CHORUS  without,  Jews. 

Woe  !  woe  !     Alas  ! 

Alas  !     We  are  undone  ! 

The  sacrifice  hath  failed  ! 

The  daily  sacrifice  is  ended ! 

The  blood  of  priests  and  foemen  blended ! 

The  holiest  place  assailed  ! 

Lo  !     Vengeance  is  begun  ! 

Woe  !  woe  I     Alas  ! 

Woe  !  woe  !     Alas  ! 

Howl  Kedron,  Olivet. 

Storms  raise  your  wailing  voices  high, 

O  Earthquakes,  rend  the  garment  of  the  earth. 

O  Mountains,  give  your  burning  torrents  birth. 

Winds,  shriek  forth  woes,  and  shrieking  fly; 

For  Mercy's  sun  is  set. 

Woe  !  woe  !     Alas  I 


SALOME.  167 

Enter  FIRST  OFFICER. 
SIMON. 

What  means  this  new  outcry  ? 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

The  sacrifice, 

The  daily  sacrifice,  hath  failed.     In  terror 
The  people  rend  their  garments  and  bewail. 


Why  hath  it  failed? 

FIRST    OFFICER. 

Since  John  hath  held  the  Temple, 
He  with  his  zealots,  as  thou  knowest  well, 
Hath  driven  thence  the  priests,  all  sacrilege 
Hath  compassed,  till  no  men  remain  to  make 
The  offering  — 

Enter  SECOND  OFFICER. 
SIMON. 

And  what  news  bringest  thou? 

o 
SECOND   OFFICER. 

A  herald  from  the  Roman  camp  demands 
A  parley  with  thee. 


We  will  see  him  straight. 


168  SALOME. 

Return  the  prisoner  to  the  dungeon  ;  there 
Make  ready  torments ;  guard  her  till  I  come. 

[Exeunt  OFFICER  and  GUARDS,  with  SALOME. 

Now  to  the  wall  to  hear  the  Romans  talk, 
Observe  their  wiles,  and  study  them  to  halk. 


Summit  of  a  Tower. 
KALIPHILUS. 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  AM  entangled  in  the  web  I  weave. 
I  shall  but  miss  the  mark  which  I  would  pierce 
By  bending  that  obdurate  Simon.     Help, 
O  Father  of  all  Lies,  help  me  invent. 
Should  I  not  lift  some  counterpoise,  and  check 
The  mounting  zeal  and  palace-ward  ambition 
Of  that  dupe  Simon,  he  will  surely  thwart 
My  purpose,  moving  forward  to  its  goal 
With  steady  pace ;  for  he  will  slay  Salome 
To  purchase,  as  he  thinks,  the  Victory, 
And  so  securely  sit  upon  the  throne. 
Thus  the  one  changeless  aim  of  all  my  life 
Shall  shoot  awry.     But  she  must  yet  be  mine 
For  love,  or  for  revenge,  as  she  shall  choose. 
Oh,  she  shall  pay  me  for  the  woe  she  's  caused. 
Oh,  she  shall  lighten,  for  one  hour,  my  curse, 
Since  she  alone  hath  placed  it  on  my  life. 
But  for  this  star,  an  aimless  wanderer 


170  SALOME. 

Through  Chaos  tenfold  raging  should  I  drive, 
A  wreck  that  cannot  sink  —  that  cannot  sink  ! 
I  will  to  John,  and  with  some  ready  tale 
Make  him  my  dupe  and   ally.     Oh,  the  fools  ! 
The  cursing  spirit  moves  in  me  again, 
And    I    must    cry  (calling},  Woe   to   the   city! 
woe! 

Enter  SIMON. 
SIMON. 

Did'st  hear  that  cry  ? 

KALIPHILUS. 

What  cry? 

SIMON. 

Woe  to  the  city  ! 

KALIPHILUS. 

Yea. 

SIMON. 

What  bodes  it? 

KALIPHILUS. 

Some  wretch  by  hunger  crazed 
Sees  in  himself  the  city  all  accursed. 

SIMON. 

I  came  to  seek  thee,  for  the  Romans  now 


SALOME.  1 . 1 

Demand  a  parley,  and  I  fain  would  know 
What  I  shall  answer. 


KALIPHILUS. 

Yield  them  not  a  whit, 
Whate'er  they  ask.     Defy  them,  and  be  firm. 


An  open  Place  outside  the  Wall  of  Jerusalem. 

ROMAN  SOLDIERS,  at  ease. 

CHORUS,  Roman  Soldiers. 

Now  rest. 

In  the  west 

Phoebus  is  sinking  in  blood. 

O 

Redder  and  redder  he  grows 

As  he  goes 

Plunging  adown  the  red  flood. 

And  Diana  with  fear 

Starts  from  her  couch,  forgetting  her  veil, 

And  turns  pale 

To  see  her  lord  so  disappear. 

And  the  stars, 

In  glittering  hosts  following  Mars, 

Lift  their  spear  points  for  lights 

On  Olympus'  battlement  heights, 

And  gaze  down  the  Hesperian  steeps 

Where   Phoebus  still  sinks  in  the  deeps. 

From  the  east  swift  rushes  the  Night, 

O         * 

Her  visage  all  pale  with  affright ; 

And  the  winds, 

Like  fleet-footed  hinds 


SALOME.  173 

Coursing  over  cerulean  hills, 

From  their  swift  course  refrain ; 

Upright  is  lifted  each  misty  mane 

At  the  premonition  of  ills 

In  the  west. 

Rest,  comrades,  rest. 

Now  rest 

While  a  test, 

To  know  if  the  gods  be  propitious, 

Or  if  by  beings  malicious 

Our  fate  is  controlled, 

The  soothsayers  hold. 

And  each  to  the  gods  an  oblation 

Shall  pour, 

That  no  more, 

By  this  accursed  nation, 

Our  arms  shall  suffer  defeat. 

No  more  we  retreat. 

For  this  night, 

We  swear  by  the  light, 

And  the  crest, 

And  the  virgin  breast 

Of  Diana,  queen  of  the  bow, 

That  we  '11  hunt  to  their  dens, 

To  their  deadliest  pens 

Where  their  bloodiest  treacheries  grow, 

To  their  eyries  steep, 


174  SALOME. 

To  their  caverns  deep, 

This  surly,  serpent-like,  swooping  foe ; 

While  every  blow 

Shall  be  a  Roman's  best. 

Rest,  comrades,  rest. 

Enter  JOSEPHUS  and  ATTENDANTS. 
JOSEPHUS. 

Retire,  my  friends,  retire,  and  give  us  place. 

[Exeunt  SOLDIERS. 

O  God  of  David,  give  my  cause  success. 

Enter  on  the  wall,  SIMON  and  ATTENDANTS. 

SIMON. 

What   would    the    Romans?     Who  shall  speak 
for  Titus  ? 

JOSEPHUS. 

'T  is  I,  Josephus. 

SIMON. 

Craven,  art  thou  there  ? 
'T  is  easy  to  foretell  what  shall  be  said 
When  traitors  are  the  spokesmen. 

JOSEPHUS. 

I  am  here 

To  speak  the  words  of  Titus ;  not  to  rail, 
Or  answer  railings.     Hear  ye :    If  so  be 
That  ye  are  bent  maliciously  to  fight, 


SALOME.  175 

Come  out  with  John ;  heal  your  accursed  sedi 
tions, 

And,  with  united  forces,  in  the  field 
Engage  the  Romans.     So  shall  ye  preserve 
The  city  and  the  Temple,  nor  offend, 
More  than  ye  have,  the  God  of  Ahraham 
By  the  defilement  of  His  holy  house. 
And  so  the  sacrifice,  which  now  hath  ceased, 
Again  may  burn ;  for  whomsoe'er  ye  choose 
Shall  worthy  be  esteemed  to  offer  it. 


Entice  us  not.     Thy  words  are  an  offense. 
For  who  can  hear  him  speak  that  counts  his  life 
In  slavery  to  be  preferred  to  death  ? 
Deserter,  traitor,  coward,  dost  thou  think 
That  we  shall  listen  to  thy  craven  counsel  ? 
Or  that  we  fear  destruction  of  the  city? 
Or  that  the  Almighty  cannot  guard  His  house  ? 

JOSEPHUS. 

Thine  indignation  at  me  is  most  just. 

I  merit  treatment  worse  than  thou  canst  tender, 

Since  here  I  strive  to  press  deliverance 

On  those  whom  God   already  hath  condemned. 

Oh  surely  have  ye  kept  the  city  pure  ! 

Oh  surely  is  the  Temple  undefiled  ! 

Still  offered  is  the  dailv  sacrifice  ! 


176  SALOME. 

Oh,  wretched  cheat,  dost  thou  then  hope   that 

God 
Whom  ye  have   robbed   of  His  pure  worship ; 

whose 

Pure  Temple  ye,  with  every  crime,  pollute  ; 
Whose  priests  ye  've  slain,  e'en  in  the  holy  place, 
Will  aid  you  so  to  carry  on  the  war, 
In    which    such    things    are    done,  till  ye  shall 

triumph  ? 

Behold !     The  city  is  hemmed  in,  and  ye 
Are  prisoners.     The  wall,  impassable, 
Invests  your  hosts,  and  Caesar  is  their  keeper. 
Within,  his  allies  daily  are  at  work 
To  mine  your  stubbornness,  and  bring  you  down. 
For  Famine  hath  a  guard  in  every  house 
Sedition  holds  the  streets,  and  Pestilence 
Commands  the  gates ;  while  Conflagration  sits 
Above  the  Temple  with  his  flames  in  leash. 
Antonia  is  Caesar's.     Banks  are  built 
And  rise    like    threatening  waves ;  his  engines, 

placed, 

Are  like  the  storm-clouds  on  a  heaving  sea. 
The  ready  storm  shall  burst.     Oh,  yield  in  time. 
E'en  enemies  and  heathen  now  bemoan 
The  wretchedness  that  ye  have  brought  upon 
The  city,  and  your  sacrilegious  crimes, 
And  for  the  shrine  defiled  their  hot  tears  fall. 
Oh,  be  persuaded,  if  ye  will  not  do  it, 


SALOME. 


And  suffer  Titus  to  preserve  the  city, 
Our  holy  Temple,  and  religious  rites. 
Lo !  Titus  prays  you  to  prevent  the  fire 
Which  hangs  above  the  Temple  to  consume  it. 


Hast  thou  aught  other  message   for  mine  ear  ? 
If  not,  thy  coming  and  thy  words  are  useless. 


josF.nius. 


Then  on  your  own  heads  be  the  awful  guilt. 

SIMON. 

Upon  our  heads  and  on  our  children's  be  it. 

JOSEPHUS. 

I  have  another  message  for  thine  ear. 

SIMON. 

Speak  briefly,  then. 

JOSEPHUS. 

The  Roman  general  Sextus, 
Within  the  walls  allured,  was  slain,  or  taken 
A  prisoner.     The  city,  too,  contains 
Salome,  daughter  of  Herodias, 
With  certain  of  her  friends  and  dear  attendants. 
If  Sextus  live,  I  come  to  ransom  him. 

12 


178  SALOME. 

If  he  live  not,  I  come  to  ask  his  body. 
And,  last,  to  ask  that  freely  thou  permit 
Salome  and  her  friends  to  leave  the  city. 

SIMON. 

Then  hast  thou  come  in  vain. 

JOSEPHUS. 

Do  not  refuse 
To  reckon  thine  own  gain  conceding  this. 


My  gains  are  reckoned,  and  I  hold  them  fast. 
Return  to  Titus,  beg  him  to  restrain 
His  swift  impatience  till  the  morning  dawn. 
Then  shall  he  find  displayed  upon  the  wall 
The  bodies  which  he  seeks. 

JOSEPHUS. 

And  wilt  thou  dare 
His  vengeance  by  their  murder  ? 


Thou  shalt  see. 

His  vengeance  is  not  terrible  to  me. 
Give  voice,  ye  trumpets,  that  no  more  we  hear 
The  supplications  of  the  coward  Fear. 


In  the  Temple. 

KALIPHILUS  and  JOHN. 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  TELL  thee  Simon  shall  thy  master  be  — 

JOHN. 

The  usurping  robber !     Make  such  prophecies 
To  those  who  '11  hear  them.     Never,   while    I 

live, 
Can  this  be  true,  false  prophet,  his  accomplice  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  tell  thee  Simon  shall  thy  master  be, 

And  king  of  all  the  Jews,  unless  I  aid  thee. 

JOHN. 

Thou  com'st  to  tell  me  this  ?     A  useless   mis 
sion. 

How  much  hath  Simon  paid  thee  for  this  song  ? 
What !  thinkest  thou  that  it  shall  make  me  shake, 
Undo  my  courage,  put  my  hopes  to  flight, 
And  overthrow  the  walls  of  my  resolve  ? 


180  SALOME. 

Or  hopest  them  to  drain  my  treasury? 
For  how  much  would'st  thou  sell  thy  proffered 
aid? 

KALIPHILUS. 

Believe  or  disbelieve  as  facts  shall  prove. 
My  aid  I  proffer  freely  ;  I  but  ask 
That  thou  accept  it  and  be  ruled  by  me. 
For  I  can  point  the  way,  which,  if  thou  follow, 
'T  is  thou  shalt  mount  above  him  and  prevail. 


Well,  map  it  out ;  and  when  it  shall  be  seen, 
I  '11  tell  thee  whether  thou  shalt  be  my  captain. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Know,  then,  that  Simon  holds  a  Roman  captive. 
A  princess,  who  to-morrow  shall  be  led 
As  't  were  to  execution  on  the  wall : 
Thus  shall  the  vengeful  multitude  consent 
To  let  her  pass.     But,  once  upon  the  wall, 
'T  is  Simon's  purpose  to  deliver  her 
To  Titus,  and  her  ransom  to  be  paid, 
As  is  already  secretly  agreed, 
Shall  be  the  sovereignty  of  this  shamed  people, 
Under  the  Romans.      Simon's  forces  then, 
With  Caesar's  host  united,  shall  compel 
Obedience  — 


SALOME.  181 

JOHN. 

The  traitorous  villain ! 

KALIPHILUS. 

Now, 
If  thou  would' st  snatch  this  vantage   from  his 

grasp, 
Prepare  a  rescue  secretly  — 


And  then  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

Let  chosen  men  be  ready  ere  the  dawn, 
And  thou  shalt  lead  them ;  thee  will  I  direct. 
And,  that  thou  fail  not,  see  thy  force  be  strong. 
They  other  prisoners  have,  for  whom  their  care 
Shall  be  thy  ally  ;  for  the  General  Sextus, 
As  thou  hast  heard,  shall  then  be  crucified. 

JOHN. 

And  if  I  rescue  her  ? 

KALIPHILUS. 

Then  bring  her  straight 
Into  the  Temple,  place  her  in  my  guard, 
And  I  will  answer  that  she  leave  me  not. 
To  Titus  then,  as  thine  ambassador, 
Will  I  repair,  obtain  such  terms  for  thee 
As  he  hath  pledged  to  Simon  — 


182  SALOME. 


It  is  well, 

And  fairly  hast  thou  spoken.     'T  is  agreed. 
The  men  shall  ready  be,  and  of  the  best. 
Where  is  this  prisoner  ? 

KALIPHILUS. 

In  the  castle  dungeon. 

JOHN. 

Let   me   but   know  the    hour   when    she    shall 

leave  it, 
And  I  will  fail  thee  not.     How  is  she  called? 


KALIPHILUS. 


Salome,  daughter  of  Herodias. 


A  Dungeon. 
SALOME. 

SALOME. 
IN  this  dread  dungeon,  where  I  heard  with  joy 

The  holy  teachings  and  the  gentle  voice 
Of  John  the  Baptist,  let  me  now  employ 

Remaining  strength  to  wonder  and  rejoice, 
For  mercy  infinite,  which  doth  not  scorn 
To  stay  and  save  me,  wandering  and  forlorn. 

Whatever  trials  Thou  shalt  think  it  meet 
To  send  me,  Saviour,  let  me  not  repine ; 

But  count  myself  most  blessed,  at  Thy  feet 
To  suffer  for  the  joy  of  being  Thine, — 

Adoring  still  the  Pity  and  the  Love 

Which  stoops  to  raise  me  to  Thy  home  above. 

My  Father,  in  this  scene  of  my  great  crime, 
Oh  make  me  as  a  little  child  again. 

Make  me  forget  the  weary,  sinful  time, 
That  I  have  passed  in  penitence  and  pain. 

As  from  his  lips  I  heard  his  pardoning  word, 

So  now  by  me  Thy  pardoning  voice  be  heard. 


184  SALOME. 

And  as  he  died,  let  me  prepare  to  die, 
Forgiving  all,  and  trusting  in  Thy  grace, 

That  Thou  wilt  call  me  to  Thyself  on  high, 
And  that  I  there  again  shall  see  his  face, 

Assured  of  pardon,  saved,  and  sanctified, 

Though  worst  of  all  for  whom  the  Saviour  died. 

Enter  THONA  and  CHORUS  of  Christians. 

O  friends,  why  come  ye  to  the  lion's  lair  ? 

CHORUS. 

We  come  to  share  what  may  betide  thee  there. 


But  wot  ye  not  our  enemies  prevail  ? 

CHORUS. 

Should  we  in  such  an  hour  of  trial  fail? 


It  was  a  comfort  to  believe  you  fled. 

CHOP.US. 
Fly  thou,  and  let  us  suffer  in  thy  stead. 

THONA. 

I  could  not  leave  thee.     I  would  die  with  thee. 


SALOME.  185 

SALOME. 

Nay,  it  is  fit  I  die,  but  ye  should  flee. 


For  if  the  Bridegroom  with  His  train  this  night 
Appear,  shall  we  be  scattered  hence  in  flight  ? 
Shall  we  not,  with. our  lamps  well  trimmed,  go 

meet  Him  ? 
With   wedding  garments   on,  go  forth   to  greet 

Him? 

Arise,  stand  ready.     If  to-night  our  guide 
Be  taken  from  us,  where  shall  we  abide  ? 

Enter  SEXTUS. 

SEXTUS. 

Ah  !  I  have  come  in  time.  The  Lord  be  praised. 
And  they  would  torture  thee  — 


Oh  !     Art  thou  crazed  — 


Dear  hands,  untouched;  those  feet,  this  gentle 
form  — 

SALOME. 

That  thou  defiest  thus  this  fatal  storm? 


186  SALOME. 

SEXTUS. 

They  would  torment  thee  —  yet   thou  art  un 
harmed  ? 

SALOME. 

For  thee,  alone,  my  heart  is  now  alarmed. 

SEXTUS. 

They  'd  make    thee   me    betray   with    tortured 
breath. 

SALOME. 

And  thou  for  this  hast  come  to  certain  death? 


Most  gladly,  if  to  save  thee  but  one  sigh. 

f 

SALOME. 

My  sighs  so  saved,  who  should  sigh  more  than  I  ? 

SEXTUS. 

What  pangs  had  I  if  I  from  thee  had  fled. 

SALOME. 

And  I,  what  sorrows  thus  to  know  thee  dead. 

SEXTUS. 

Who  takes  me  hence,  shall  hew  me  from  thee, 
love. 


SALOME.  187 

SALOME. 

Together  to  His  rest  we  shall  remove. 

CHORUS. 

Now,  led  by  Love,  let  golden-winged  Content 
From  its  calm  realm  descend,  and  in  its  hands 
Take  these  true  hearts,  by  weary  trials   spent, 
Through  crystal  portals  lead  them  to  blest  lands, 
Whose  firm  foundations  no  commotions  jar, 
Whose  perfect  joy  no  gloomy  fate  can  mar. 


A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
SIMON  and  MARAH. 


NAY,  but  it  may  be  done.     Some  one  inspired 
By  love  of  country,  pity  for  our  people, 
Could  find  the  way  to  Caesar's  tent,  and  there 
Send  his  too  moTinting  spirit  down  to  Hades. 
The  will   and  purpose,  which  now   guides    the 

siege, 

Should  faint  and  die ;  and  all  his  army  then, 
Confused  and  terrified,  should  fall  a  prey 
To  well  directed  sallies  from  the  wall. 


Zeal,  courage,  vengeance,  all  inspire  our  men, 
Whose  deeds  of  daring  make  all  others  cowards. 
And  they  as  gladly  would  the  venture  make 
As,  starving  now,  they  'd  rush  unto  a  feast  ; 
Think   him  most  happy  whom   I  should  permit 
To  undertake  the  deed.     But  it  were  vain. 
No   man    could   cross    the    boundaries  of  their 
camp. 


SALOME.  189 


What  man  cannot  perchance  a  woman  can. 
As  our  own  Judith  ventured  to  the  lair 
Of  Holofernes,  and  with  his  own  brand 
Slew  him,  and  overthrew  his  conquering  host ; 
So  some  fair  woman,  daughter  of  her  soul, 
Might  CaBsar  slay  and  save  this  sinking  nation. 


But,  in  these  days,  who  is  there,  brave  and  fair, 
The  peril  of  such  enterprise  to  dare  ? 


I  would  not  boast,  yet  fain  would  I  essay  — 

SIMON. 

Thou,  foolish  woman !  but  to  rue  the  day. 


Nay,  Simon,  I  can  do  it ;  thine  shall  be 
The  glory  of  the  deed ;  enough  for  me 
To  seem  but  in  thy  hands  the  instrument 
For  this  great  action.     Give  me  thy  consent, 
And  I  will  pledge  success.     Oh,  let  me  go 
And  save  this  people  from  this  sea  of  woe. 


How  could'st  thou,  feeble,  reach  his  guarded  tent  ? 
How  do  the  deed  on  which   thy  soul  is  bent? 


190  SALOME. 


Let  forty  chosen  men  of  courage  tried, 
In  whom  discretion  is  with  wit  allied, 
Attired  as  women  in  dark  garbs  of  woe, 
With    forms    low    bent    and    long   veils   falling 

low, 

Go  with  me  as  the  ministers  of  fate, 
That  I  may  seem  attended  by  a  state. 
Then,  as  a  princess,  come  to  intercede 
For  justice,  or  for  clemency  to  plead, 
To  offer  peace,  or  ask  peace-making  truce, 
Some  favor  beg,  or  argue  some  abuse, 
Shall    I   be   brought   before  him.       There   I  '11 

find 
The  occasion  and  the  way  to  do  my  mind. 

SIMON. 

Such  men  I  have  ;   such  garments  they  might 

wear. 
But  would'st  thou,  truly,  so  much  peril  dare  ? 


Oh!  would  I  dare  it,  Simon?     For  me,  death 
Is  dearer  now  than  is  my  hated  breath. 
And  I  was  fair  —  Oh  would  I  had  not  been  !  — 
Perchance  by  hope  and  noble  thoughts  within 
This  beauty  may  relighted  be,  and  then, 
As  me  it  periled,  shall  it  peril  men. 


SALOME.  191 

SIMON. 

If  Titus  brave  and  generous  shall  prove 

The    fool   that    Fame    reports   him,   grief  shall 

move 

His  soul  e'en  more  than  beauty.     In  thine  eye 
A  thousand  dangerous  provocations  lie, 
Which,  seemingly  disarmed  by  grief  and  pain, 
Shall,  unsuspected,  their  advantage  gain. 


If  in  the  venture  I  shall  nobly  fall, 

My  noble  death  shall  blot  my  failings  all. 


And,  if  success  shall  crown  thee,  then  loud  fame 
Shall  drown  the  whisperings  of  envious  blame. 
I  know  thou  hast  a  firm  and  daring  soul, 
To  mount  for  victory  and  reach  the  goal. 
So  go,  and  prosper.     Here  thou  shalt  await, 
And  presently  I  '11  hither  bring  thy  state, 
The  men  accoutred,  ready  to  thy  mind, 
To  help  thee  strongly  bound  as  oaths  can  bind. 

[Exit  SIMON. 

MARAH. 

A  traitress,  too  !     What  then  ?    No  crime  can 

now 

Add  to  my  infamy,  or  plunge  me  deeper 
In  dark  Gehenna.     O  Jerusalem, 


192  SALOME. 

I  do  it  for  thy  sake,  beloved  city,  — 

And  hers,  —  lest  others  weakly  do  as  I, 

Like  me  constrained,  and  make  thee  a  reproach, 

Themselves  accursed.     Is  treason  then  a  crime, 

If  I  betray  thee  for  thy  good  and  theirs  ? 

Deceit,  when  merciful,  no  more  deceit 

But  mercy  is,  for  holy  beings  meet. 

Yet  they  shall  call  me  traitress,  say  I  sold 

My  faith,  my  nation,  for  more  life,  for  gold, 

For  luxury  —  oh  !  luxury  for  me 

To  die,  and  what  now  haunts  me  no  more  see  ; 

To    know    the    strength    so    ill    obtained    hath 

served 

To  bless   some   hearts   from  ills   like  mine  pre 
served. 

Is  there  no  pity  in  the  heavens  for  strength 
O'erborne  ?  for  souls  in  utter  misery  foundered  ? 
If  I  may  take  a  life  to  save  mine  own 
When  threatened  by  that  life,  why  may  I  not 
Howe'er  my  life  be  threatened  ?  life  is  life. 
And  my  child's  life,  already  half  mine  own, 
In  taking  it  I  took  but  half  a  life, 
And  sent  him  innocent  from  woes  impending. 

Enter  SIMON,  and  SOLDIERS  disguised  as  women. 
SIMON. 

Behold  the  men. 


SALOME.  193 


Are  they  instructed  all  ? 
Can  they  be  trusted,  whatsoe'er  befall? 


Ay,  faithful,  ready,  of  discretion  best, 
They  will  obey,  unquestioned,  thy  behest. 


Then  count  my  purpose  acted  ere  the  day 
Light  up  the  shores  of  morning  with  its  ray. 

SIMON. 

The  elements  of  nature  threaten  war, 

And  rising  winds,  night's  sighs,  are  heard  from 

far. 

Black  jagged  clouds,  like  huge  Tartarean  bulls, 
With  heads  low  bent,  rush  roaring  to  the  fray, 
And  breathe  from  hissing  nostrils  lurid  flames. 

MARAH. 

Let  them   o'erthrow  the    heavens,  my  purpose 
holds. 


I  hear,  as  't  were,  the  echoes  of  wild  laughter, 
And  gibbering  voices  mock  the  startled  ear 
From  out  the  darkness ;  whispers  from  the  clouds 

13 


194  SALOME. 

Like  falling  snow  flakes  melt  or  ere  the  sense 
Can  grasp  their  chilly  meaning  — 


Dost  thou  fear  ? 
Well  may  thy  trembling  conscience  make  thee 

shake. 

And  ye,  my  friends,  shall  terrors  make  ye  fail, 
Or  will  ye  with  me  o'er  them  all  prevail  ? 

CHORUS,  Soldiers. 

So  dark  as  is  the  deed  should  be 
The  darkness  it  concealing.     See ! 
The  eyes  of  heaven  are  shut.     Away ! 
Let  it  be  finished  ere  the  day. 


C&sar's  Pavilion. 

TITUS,  LEPIDUS,  FRIGIUS,  and  the  COMMANDERS  OF  LEGIOXS. 
TITUS. 

COMPANIONS,  and  dear  sharers  of  our  toils, 
Now  Victory  smiles  upon  our  enterprise. 
The  omens  are  propitious,  and  the  gods 
Descend  in  mighty  shadows  from  the  hills, 
As  in  the  time  while  Troy  yet  was ;  their  tread 
The  heavens  shakes  ;  their  clashing  armor  sounds 
Reverberating  thunders  through  the  air, 
And  gleams  in  livid  lightnings  from  the  clouds, 
Which  veil  their  awful  majesties  from  view. 
They  move  in  dreadful  presence  to  the  fight. 
On  with  them  ;  let  our  deeds  illume  this  night. 
Brave  Lepidus  shall,  with  a  chosen  hand, 
Stand  ready  till  the  breached  wall  invite ; 
Then  his  shall  be  the  honor  to  invade 
The  portal  opened  by  your  enginery, 
And  cut  his  way  into  the  castle,  there 
To  plant  our  standard  on  the  topmost  tower, 
And  free  our  Sextus  who  lies  there  enchained, 
And  others  dear  to  Rome  and  dear  to  him,  — 


190  SALOME. 

While    each   of  you   your  several  powers  shall 

press 
Through    breaches,    broken    gates,  and    falling 

towers, 
To   seize    their    strongholds    and    to    storm    the 

Temple. 

But  this  I  charge  you,  let  no  daring  hand 
Put  to  that  house  the  sacrilegious  brand. 
Such  is  our  plan,  which,  Valor  seconding, 
Shall  lead  us  to  the  end  of  these  our  labors, 
Entice  wreath-bearing  Victory,  and  Fame, 
Her    swift-winged    herald,   to    our    conquering 

camp, 

And  bring  the  Muses  down  to  celebrate 
Our  triumphs  and  the  victor's  sweet  rewards. 
Go,  Lepidus,  with  blessings  of  the  gods. 
Thy  mission  is  most  dangerous ;  its  cause 
Most  just  and  holy  ;  so  the  undertaking 
Most  honorable.     Perils,  undisguised 
And  hidden,  wait  for  thee  ;  perchance  defeat 
In  ambush  lies  as  the  van-p-uard  of  death. 

O 

Dishonor,  Lepidus,  cannot  o'ertake  thee, 
Nor  lies  it  in  thy  path.     And,  if  thou  win, 
I  'd  give  my  hopes  of  empire  for  thy  glory, 
And  think  I  'd  paid  thee  naught,  so  great  thy 

gain. 

I  envy  thee,  my  friend.     Oh  would  the  gods 
Had  made  my  duty  lie  where  goes  my  wish, 


SALOME.  197 

And  Titus  thy  lieutenant  then  had  been, 
And  death  in  this  adventure  better  loved 
Than  life  remaining  here.     O  Lepidus, 
I  know  thy  heart  is  made  of  heroism, 
By  Disappointment  tempered,  and  thy  zeal 
Is  forged  and  hardened  by  Adversity  — 
A  very  Vulcan  when  he  worketh  on 
True  metal  —  to  the  bow  of  steel,  resolve, 
Which  will  not  be  unbent  till  the  arrow,  purpose, 
Shall  pierce  the  centre  of  the  targe,  success. 
Yet  let  my  exhortation  add  some  strength 
To  the  right  arm  of  thy  determination, 
That  I  may  seem  not  idle  in  the  achievement, 
And  share  some  part  of  favor  in  the  end 
Of  thy  great   work.     The  gods  be  with    thee, 
friend. 

LEPIDUS. 

Thy  friend   shall  still    deserve    thy    friendship, 

Titus, 
In  life  or  death.     So,  for  the  night,  farewell. 


To  thee,  O  Frigius,  I  will  but  say 

That  Lepidus  hath  chosen  well.     Approve 

His  choice  of  a  lieutenant.     Fare  ye  well. 

[Exeunt  LEPIDUS  and  FKIGIUS. 

You,  generals,  each  to  his  station  move, 
And  when  ye  see  Destruction's  fiery  banner 


198  SALOME. 

Flung  from  Antonia's  tower  to  the  skies, 

Its  flaming  folds  red  gleaming  from  the  smoke 

Tartareous  that  hangeth  ever  round  it, 

And  drapeth  it  in  awe-inspiring  black, 

Let  every  engine  answer  with  its  bolts 

To  heaven's  dread  enginery,  and  the  loud  crash 

Of  swift  artillery  outdo  the  thunder, 

And,  while  your  rushing  legions  shake  the  earth, 

O'erthrow  the   walls    and  towers  ;   then  to  the 

breaches. 

Great  Caesar's  constellation  in  the  heavens 
With  anxious  eagerness  regardeth  trembling, 
And  starteth  forward  from  its  azure  seat, 
To  see  Rome's  soldiers  fight  as  did  his  Romans ; 
And  their  commander  watcheth  to  reward. 
Rome,  rising  from  her  seven  hills,  looketh  on. 
Go,   with  the  favor  of  the  most  just  gods. 

[Exeunt  COMMANDERS. 

O  god  of  battles,  Mars  omnipotent, 

If  I  have  been  a  worthy  son ;  if  e'er 

My  fathers  served  thee  ;  if  thou  hast  respect 

To  Rome ;  if  she,  thy  priestess,  crimson  in 

Thy  robes,  hath  been  accepted ;  for  her  sake, 

And  for  my  fathers',  and  thine  honor,   Mars, 

Hear    now    my  prayer.      Oh    give   mine    arms 

success  ; 

But  spare  the  Temple.     Let  the  city's  wreck 
Suffice ;  and  let  this  glory  of  the  earth 


SALOME.  199 

Remain.     Bid    flames  clown    to    their   kennels. 

Tuni 

The  lightnings  back.     Or  if,  for  jealousy, 
Thou  would'st  destroy  this  Temple  to  a  god 
Who  on  Olympus  hath  no  place,  forbear, 
And  I  will  build  to  thee  a  shrine  so  great 
That  jealousy  nor  envy  can  o'erlook 
Its  lofty  walls  and  towers  and  battlements. 

Enter  an  OFFICER. 

OFFICER. 

A  Hebrew  woman  with  a  courtly  train 
Awaits,  and  craves  admission  to  thy  presence. 


How  did  she  pass  the  barriers  of  the  camp  ? 


They  were  arrested,  and  she  prayed  at  once 
To  be  conducted  hither,  arguing 
Some  business  of  great  import. 

TITUS. 

Bid  her  come 
Alone,  and  let  her  train  attend  without. 

[Exit  OFFICER. 

Some  wretched    creature    fled    from  wretched 
ness 


200  SALOME. 

In  the  doomed  city.     They  will  have  it  so. 
I  would  have   spared  them  ;   but  the  gods  are 
just. 

Enter  OFFICER  with  MAEAH. 

Approach  and  do  thine  errand.     She  is  faint : 
Give  her  some  wine. 


Thanks,  gracious  Caesar,  thanks. 
Thy  clemency  and  goodness  are  well  known. 
But  I  came  not  to  plead  for  clemency. 
In  briefest  phrase  I  will  my  speech  unfold  : 
Salome,  daughter  of  Herodias, 
A  prisoner  in  the  castle,  held  by  Simon, 
Is  doomed,  to-morrow,  to  be  crucified. 
The  general  Sextus,  living  and  in  health, 
A  prisoner  in  the  castle,  held  by  Simon, 
Is  doomed,  to-morrow,  to  be  crucified. 
The  miserable  remnant  of  my  people, 
Imprisoned  in  the  city  by  thine  arms, 
Is  daily  crucified  by  every  ill 
That  utter  wretchedness  can  summon.     Now 
They  helpless  lie,  the  very  sport  of  Death. 
The  daily  sacrifice  hath  failed  for  need 
Of  men  to  offer  it.     And  now  we  know 
The  end.     The  oracle,  long  writ,  declares 
That,  when  the  oblation   and  the  sacrifice 
Shall  cease,  in  dreadful  floods  of  desolation 


SALOME.  201 

The  predetermined  consummation  comes. 
And  silence  which  shall  mock  the  ear  will  tell 
Where  stood  Mount  Zion,  glory  of  the  earth. 
The  Lord  of  all  the  earth  He  shall  do  right. 
His  will  be  done.     And,  since  it  is  His  will 
That  thou  should'st  take  the  city  and  prevail, 
I  come  to  proffer  my  weak  aid,  and  save, 
If  it  may  be,  some  poor  souls  from  perdition, 
Who,  having  suffered  with  meek  resignation, 
Yet,  overtempted  by  their  misery, 
May  do  some  dreadful  deed  against  our  laws 
And  fall  to  reprobation  ;  as  some  have. 

TITUS. 

Give  her  somewhat  to  eat. 


I  will  not  eat 
Till  I  shall  have  accomplished  all  my  vow. 

TITUS. 

How  canst  thou  aid  us  ?    What  can  we  for  thee  ? 


Prepare  me  forty  men,  your  best  and  bravest ; 
But,  first,  secure  my  train  which  waits  without, 
And  guard  them  hostages  for  these  ye  send. 
They  all  are  men  in  women's  vestments  hid ; 


202  SALOME. 

For  Simon,  thinking  that  I  hither  came 
To  take  thy  life,  hath  greatly  favored  me, 
And  I  shall  have  free  ingress  to  the  city, 
And  to  the  castle,  with  my  company. 

TITUS. 

Go  on,  go  on. 

MABAH. 

And  let  thy  forty  men 
With    these    disguises,   which    mine    own    have 

worn, 
Indue  themselves  — 

TITUS. 

Now  I  perceive  thy  scheme  : 
Go,  summon  Lepidus. 

[Exit  OFFICER. 

MARAH. 

And  they,  by  me 

Led  to  the  castle,  while  your  fierce  assault 
Shall  call  its  garrison  to  man  the  walls, 
Shall  easily  possess  it,  and  set  free 
Both  Sextus  and  Salome.     Terror  then 
Shall  fall  on  the  seditious  in  the  city, 
When  they  shall  see  thy  standards  on  its  towers, 
And  know  the  castle  held  by  thee,  —  themselves 
Between  the  upper  and  the  nether  millstone. 
And  so  thou  shalt  prevail. 


SALOME.  203 

TITUS. 

I  would  not  doubt 

Such  seeming  faith,  but  caution  aye  becomes 
The  soldier.     Hast  thou  then  no  token  brought  ? 

MARAH. 

I  have.     Behold  the  sio-net-rino-  of  Sextus. 


Enough,  and  for  this  service  thou  shalt  learn 
How  Rome  and  Caesar  can  be  grateful.     Now 
Thou  shalt  be  general  of  this  expedition, 
And  every  thing  be  ordered  by  thy  wish. 


Court  of  the  Castle. 
SIMON  and  KAI.IPHILUS. 

SIMON. 

THE  Future  stands,  with  open  arms,  before  me, 
And,  smiling,  whispers  promises  most  fair, 
Now  half  fulfilled.     Thou  art  my  prophet  prince  ; 
For,  since  Salome  hath  been  in  my  power, 
And  sentenced,  all  things  are  propitious  to  me. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Thy  faith  shall  win  for  thee  the  warrior's 
crown  — 

But  swerve  not  from  the  course  I  have  pre 
scribed. 

SIMON. 

By  this  time  Marah  hath,  in  Caesar's  camp, 
Subdued  his  heart  and  taken  his  proud  head. 
She  knoweth  skillfully  how  to  evoke, 
From  their  dark  covert  in   the  heart  profound, 
The    treacherous    passions,  keep    them   well    in 

check, 

Their  mistress  ever,  that  they  rend  her  not. 
As  traitors,  gained  in  citadels  besieged, 


SALOME.  205 

They  put  the  eyes  of  sovereign  Judgment  out, 
Enchain  the  ready  garrison  of  Thoughts, 
And  drive  beneath  the  yoke  the  captive  Will 
With  scourges.     So,  all  unsuspected,  she 
Ere  this  hath  taken  Titus,  and  I  wait 
Impatiently  her  coming. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Trust  her  not ; 

For  she  would  rather  make  one  man  her  slave 
Than  free  a  nation.     She  is  but  a  woman. 
And,  if  perchance  his  manly  parts  invite 
Her  to  the  attack,  while  Prudence  her  defies, 
And  calm  Indifference  seem  invulnerable, 
In  the  hot  vigor  of  her  first  assault 
She  shall  forget  to  guard  the  avenues 
And  gates  which  open  to  her  inmost  heart. 
And  so  he  shall  but  wait  his  vantage  time 
To  take  possession  of,  and  be  her  master. 
Nav,  rather  disregard  this  foolish  scheme, 
And,  as  I  bid  thee,  climb  to  victory. 


And  when  I  shall  be  victor,  thou  shalt  be 
My  chiefest  counselor,  and,   if  thou  wilt, 
High  priest.    Nay,  choose  thyself  thy  guerdon,  so 
It  take  thee  not  from  me.     I  would  not  lose 
Thy  counsel  and  direction. 


206  SALOME. 


KALIPHILUS. 

Fear  me  not, 


For  sooner  thou  shalt  drive  me  hence  than  I 
Thy  fortunes  cease  to  govern. 


Ho  !  already 

I  seem  to  feel  the  crown  upon  my  brow, 
And  breathe  the  regal  air. 

KALIPHILUS. 

But  tell  me  now, 

What  order  hast  thou  taken  to  fulfill 
My  mandate?     She   shall  die  how,  when,  and 
where  ? 


When  first  the  gleaming  harbingers  of  morn 

In  golden  armor  mount  the  eastern  clouds, 

Shall  she  be  taken  to  the  valley  gate. 

And  when  the  sun,  for  his  unrivaled  course, 

Shall  stand  prepared  upon  the  eastern  hills, 

She  shall  be  crucified  upon  the  Avail, 

And,  with  her,  Sextus.    Dost  thou  this  approve  ? 

KALIPHILUS. 

Ay,  it  is  well.     See  that  thou  change  it  not. 


SALOME.  207 


And    shall    I    then  be  crowned  ?     Will  all  the 

factions 

Unite  and  hail  me  master  of  the  city  ? 
And  Victory  lead  our  conjoined  hosts 
To  overthrow  the  Romans,  drive  them  hence, 
And  bar  them  from  the  realm  of  Palestine  ? 


KALIPHILUS. 


A  sound,  in  heaven,  of  rolling  chariot  wheels ! 
And  cries  of  squadrons  rushing  into  battle ! 


Ah  !  whence  this  sudden  night-devouring  light  ? 


KALIPHILUS. 

The  tower  Antonia  is  on  fire !  and  up 
To  heaven  extendeth  supplicating  arms 
Of  flame  !  O  elements,  what  shall  be  now  ? 

Enter  an  OFFICER. 

OFFICER. 

Ho !  they  assault.  The  Romans  beat  the  walls, 
And  knock  so  at  the  gates  that  they  will  open 
Of  their  accord  without  the  aid  of  porters  — 


Then  cry,  To  arms  !    Ho  !  All  men  to  the  walls ! 


208  SALOME. 

Call  out  the  garrison,  and  let  the  wardens 
Care  for  the  castle  !     Simon  to  the  rescue  ! 

[Exeunt  SIMON  and  OFFICER. 

KALirillLUS. 

So,  all  goes  well,  and  at  the  appointed  hour 
Shall  John  be  ready  with  his  chosen  power 
To  rescue  her.     Let  Sextus'  soul  descend, 
Then  is  she  mine  until  her  brief  life  end. 
And  then  —  then  —  but  anticipation  dread, 
And  woful  retrospection  !    Drear  and  dead 
The  world's  great  wilderness  ;  no  hope  to  see 
Aught  sympathizing,  feared  or  loved  by  me. 
Once  more  within  my  power,   O  ready  skill, 
Invent  the  way  for  mine  opposeless  will, 
So  that,  escaped  from  factions  and  alarms, 
No  force  but  Death   shall   tear  her  from  mine 

arms. 

But  can  I  safely  trust  this  night's  wild  chances  ? 
These  dire  portents  most  wonderful  declare 
Some  most  unheard  disaster.     Shall  I  wait 
The  coming  of  the  morn,  whose  tearful  eye 
May  blinded  be  by  smoke  of  conflagrations, 
The  only  dwellers  then  in  this  cursed  city? 
Or,  boldly,  on  my  single  arm  rely, 
And  my  well  practiced  wit.  to  take  her  hence  ? 
Now  all  is  dark.     No  wreck  of  light  illumes 
The  deep  of  tossing  clouds.    The  stars  are  sunk, 


SALOME.  209 

All    foundered,  all    their    glittering    spars  gone 

down. 

And  in  the  darkness  and  chaotic  rush, 
Perchance  unchallenged,  I  could  pass  with  her, 
The  dearest  thins;:  to  me  in  that  dear  world, 

c? 

The  last  thing  left  to  me  from  that  lost  world, 
That  Paradise  I  dwelt  in  ere  my  curse. 

Enter  an  OFFICER. 

Whence  comest  thou  ?    What  news  ?    How  goes 
the  fight? 

OFFICER. 

I  come  from  Simon,  ordered  to  behead 
Salome  in  the  dungeon. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Wherefore  thus? 


The  Romans  press  our  powers  on  every  side  ; 
And  Simon  will  cast  forth  the  accursed  thing 
To  turn  the  anger  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts. 

KALTPHILUS. 

And  I  command  thee  to  remain  with  me, 
Until  the  accepted  hour  arrive.     Stay !  halt ! 
Or  I  will  curse  thee.     Simon  doth  not  well. 
To  yonder  gallery  ascend,  report 
14 


210  SALOME. 

From  time  to  time  the  movements  of  the  fight. 

c5 

I  will  the  moment  indicate  when  thou 
Shalt  strike  the  blow  and  win  the  victory. 

[OFFICER  ascenda. 

I  must  gain  time,  or  all  is  lost  —  gain  time ! 
I  feel  my  power  slip  from  me.     Help,  ye  fiends  ! 
The  vision  of  my  soul  is  dimmed  ;  in  vain 
I  seek  some  subtle  stratagem.     O  devils  ! 

CHORUS  without,  Priests. 
Eloi,  Eloi,  lama  sabachthani  ? 

OFFICER,  above. 

Like  the  impenetrable  adamant 

Which,  blackened,  stands  the  topless  bourne  of 

hell, 
The  clouds    down    to    the   earth  are  packed  in 

walls 

Of  smooth  and  pitchy  darkness,  which  surround 
The  Temple,  city,  and  the  flaming  pile. 
While,  overhead,  in  the  fierce  flame's  hot  glare, 
They  redly  roll,  and  turn,  and  sink,  and  surge, 
Like  bloody  seas  vexed  by  a  tempest,  or 
Some  crimson  lake  of  fire  —  hell  in  the  heavens. 
The  ebon  walls  divide,  and  lightning  streams 
Flash    through    like   wrath  which    burneth    hot 

beyond. 


SALOME.  211 


CHORUS  without ;  PRIESTS  passing. 

Eloi,  Eloi,  lama  sabachthani  ? 


KALIPHILUS. 


Forsaken  !     Ay,  forsaken  !     Roar,  ye  priests. 

OFFICER,  above. 

Light  with  a  million  arrowy  rays  again 
Hath  pierced  the  breast  of  brooding  darkness. 

Ah! 

The  Temple  is  on  fire !     The  eastern  gate 
Glares    like   the    shield    of  Morning    when   he 

drives 
Night's  rout  of  shadows  to  their  northern  caves. 

CHORUS  without ;  PRIESTS  receding. 

Eloi,  Eloi,  lama  sabachthani  ? 

Enter  MARAH,  LEPIDUS,    FRIGIUS,  and  SOLDIERS  disguised  as 
women. 


Secure  the  gate,  and  make  the  castle  yours. 

LEPIDUS. 

Away  these  trappings,  as  yourselves  appear. 
Good  Frigius,  up  to  the  battlements  : 
Unveil  the  Roman  standard. 

[Exit  FRIGIUS. 


212  SALOME. 

Some  of  you 
Secure   these  men,  and  guard   them  while   we 

search 
The  castle. 

[KALIPHILUS  and  OFFICER  are  bound. 

The  garrison  made  prisoners, 
We  '11  to  the  dungeon.     Here  wait  my  return. 

[Exit  LEPIDUS  with  Attendants. 
CHORUS  without ;  JEWS,  going  away  captive. 

Fare  ye  well !  farewell,  O  palaces  deserted ! 
Fare  thee  well !  farewell,   O  city  desolated ! 
Fare  thee  well !    farewell,     O    glory    now    de 
parted  ! 

Fare  thee  well !  farewell,  O  Temple  desecrated ! 
How  are   the   mighty  brought  low  !     Kings  in 

the  harness  have  fallen. 
Queens  are  a  prey  to  the  spoiler  ;  princes  are 

bent  under  burdens. 
Gone  from  their  dwellings  the  people,  —  gone, 

or  silent  forever. 
Mourning    is    heard   there   no   more ;  there  are 

the  dead  and  the  voiceless. 
Silent    the    sheep  in  the  sheep-cote  ;  there  the 

wolf  howleth  and  raveneth  : 
There  were    no   shepherds  to  watch,  no  hedge 

to  protect  and  defend  them. 


SALOME.  2"!  3 

God,  our  Shepherd,  hath  left  us  ;  God  hath  con 
demned  and  forsaken. 

God  hath  opened  the  vials ;  wrath  raineth 
fiercely  upon  us. 

Save,  O  save  us,  Death :  the  heathen  are  our 
masters  ! 

Save,  O  save  us,  Death,  from  those  who  lead 
us  captive  ! 

Save,  O  save  us,  Death,  from  insult  and  re 
viling  ! 

Save,  O  save  us,  Death,  from  life  a  burden 
to  us  ! 


A  Dungeon. 
SEXTUS,  SALOME,  THONA,  and  CHORUS  of  Christians. 

CHORUS. 

Tliough  I  walk  through 
TJte  valley  of  the  shadow 
Of  death, 

Yet  will  I  fear  no  evil, 
For  TIiou  art  with  me. 

SALOME. 

He  will  be  with  us,  if  we  trust  in  Him, 
And  He  shall  soon  receive  us  to  Himself. 


In  my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions : 
If  it  were  not  so,  I  ivould  have  told  you. 
I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you, 
That  where  I  am,  there  ye  may  be  also. 


The  tumult  waxes,  and  the  Roman  shout 
Can    now  be  heard.     Our  friends  will  take  us 
hence. 


SALOME.  215 

E'en  now  they  come  !  and  we  are  saved.    Shall 

have 
Yet  many  days  to  love  and  help  each  other. 

Enter  MARAH,  LEPIDUS,  FKIGIUS,  TORCH  BEARERS,  and  SOLDIEKS 
with  KALIPHILUS,  bound. 


My  Thona  !     Where  's  my  Thona  ? 

THONA. 

Here.     Oh  here. 

SEXTUS. 

Dear  Lepidus,  brave  Frigius,  ye  've  done 
A  deed  such  as  ye  only  know  to  do  — 


Nay,  it  was  Marah,  here,  who  hath  performed 
Such  acts  as  have  our  Roman  women  crowned. 

SALOME. 

God  bless  thee,  Marah,  as  our  hearts  now  bless. 

SEXTUS. 

We  '11   give    thee  better    thanks  ere  long,   but 
now  — 


I  pray  ye,  let  my  actions  pass  in  silence. 


216  SALOME. 

SEXTUS. 

But  is  the  city  taken? 


It  shall  be, 
If  not  already  — 


Thou  art  safe,  Salome. 
To-morrow  we  together  will  set  out 
For  Rome.    There  shall  we  be  so  happy.     Then 
Shall  joy  make  swift  amends  for  our  past  grief. 
There  on  the  banks  of  Tiber,  in  my  palace  — 


Nay,  Sextus,  I  am  bound  unto  a  country 
Above  the  earth,  where  there  can  be  no  grief. 
There  on  the  flowery  banks  of  life's  sweet  river 
Shall  we  in  God's  own  palace  dwell,  —  An  house 
Not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Salome,  it  was  here  John  Baptist  died. 

Here  I  beheaded  him  —  at  thy  request, 

To  please  thee,  dear  one,  but  to  win  thy  love  — 


Oh,  help  me. 


SALOME  217 

SEXTUS. 

Stop  his  mouth. 

KALIPHILUS. 

I  took  his  head 
To    give    thee  —  't   was   thy  wish  —  for  thee  I 

did  it  — 
He  knew  it  too.     O  innocent !  —  O  angel !  — 

LEPIDUS. 

Lo  !  Csesar  comes  ! 

Enter  TITUS,  JOSEPHUS,  and  ATTENDANTS,  with  SIMON  a  prisoner, 
Hail !  Imperator,  hail ! 


The  city  's  ours,  John  ta'en,  and  Simon  here 
Our  prisoner. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Ha,  ha !     He  would  be  king. 

TITUS. 

Good  Lepidus,  stout  Frigius,  true  friends, 
Ye  need  not  Caasar's  praises.     Your  reward 
Ye  here  have  won,  and  proudly  shall  ye  boast  it. 


218  SALOME. 

SIMON. 

Hag,   witch,  thou  didst  betray  me  ;    thou  she- 
wolf — 

[Attempts  to  smite  MARAH. 
TITUS. 
Chain,  take  him  hence.     Preserve  him  for  the 

triumph . 

He  would  be  king.  When,  at  the  Capitol, 
According  to  the  rules  of  Roman  triumphs, 
He  shall  be  slain,  prepare  a  red-hot  crown 
And  place  it  on  his  brows.  He  shall  be  crowned. 

KALIPHILUS. 

Ha,  Simon !  thou  shalt  yet  be  king.     Hey,  Si 
mon  ? 

Dost  feel  the  crown  upon  thy  kingly  brows, 
And  snuff  the  regal  air  ?     Hail !  Simon,  hail ! 


False  prophet,  liar,  O  fiend,  accursed  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

Ha,  ha  ! 

[SIMON  is  led  out. 
TITUS. 

Brave  Marah,  it  shall  be  my  charge  to  see 
That  thou  hast  a  reward  commensurate 
With  thy  great  merit.     Caesar's  gratitude 


SALOME.  219 

Thou  hast  already,  and  the  Emperor 

Shall  learn  thy  noble  deeds.     Rome  loves  brave 

women. 

Salome,  Cassar  hails  and  welcomes  thee, 
The    Emperor's    guest,  with    these   thy  faithful 

friends  ; 

And,   midst  rejoicings  for  this  victory, 
Shall  Sextus  claim  thee  as  his  loving  wife. 
Then  Lepidus  shall  take  his  dear  love  home, 
Whom    I    salute.     Thou  art    worthy   of    him, 

Thona, 

And  that  is  praise  such  as  few  women  win. 
Now    let    as    leave    this    dungeon.       For    your 

need 
Already  food  and  wine  have  been  prepared. 

KALIPHILUS  (havinr/  silently  freed  himself  from  his  bonds). 

Sir,  by  thy  leave  — 

[Snatches  a  sword  and  thrusts  at  SEXTUS;  SALOME  springs 
before  him  and  receives  the  blow. 

SALOME. 

Oh  !  I  am  slain  !     Ah  !  Sextus  — 

[Swoons. 

SEXTUS. 

Salome  !    Speak  !    What  !    dead  !    by   that   fell 

hand! 
Nay,  friends,  stand  back  —  give  me  a  sword  — 

stand  back, 


220  SALOME. 

And  let  me  deal  with  him.     We  have  a  question 
Must  be  discussed  with  bloody  arguments. 

[Attacks  KALIPHILUS. 
KALIPHII.US. 

Now  she  is  dead,  live  on,  and  be  accursed 
Like  me.     Live  on.     Hold,  play  not  with  me,  or 
I  shall  be  kinder  to  thee  than  I  would. 
What !  wilt  thou  then  ?     Ha  !  wilt  thou  ?    Have 
it  so. 

[Stabs  SEXTUS. 
SEXTUS. 
I  could  not  stay.     I  come  to  thee,  Salome. 

[Dies. 

TITUS. 

Straight    scourge    him    hence,  ay,  scourge  him 

till  he  die. 
And  weary  not  in  scourging  — 

KALIPHILUS. 

Ha,  ha  !  come, 
And  one  by  one  I  '11  rid  me  of  your  stings. 

[Exit  KALIPHILUS,  pursued  by  SOLDIERS  scourging  him. 

SALOME. 

Come  rear  me,  Sextus  —  Thona  —  ah !  —  Fare 
well. 
Come,  Sextus,  —  come  —  come.     Lord,  receive 

my  spirit. 

[Dies. 


SALOME.  221 

CHORUS,  Romans. 

So    upon    the    dim    shore    breaks  the  mist    en 
shrouded  billow. 

CHORUS,  Christians. 

So    the    stars    are    lost    in    light  when   the  full 
day  appeareth. 

CHOHUS,  Romans. 

Now    to    the    Islands  of   the    Blessed  oh  waft 

them,  waft  them, 
Ye  gentle  gales,  that,  o'er  the  mystic  seas  soft 

moving, 
Convey  each  soul   freighted   with  honesty   and 

virtue 
To    that    dear    haven.       And    there   in    sunny 

bays,  by  shore  lands, 
Wood-  cove  red,    flower-embroidered,    filled  with 

sweets  and  music, 
Let    these    storm-beaten    souls    at    anchor   rest 

forever. 

CHORUS,  Christians. 

Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  Jesus, 
For  they  rest,  they  rest  from  all  their  labors. 
Now  they  wing  their  way  unto  the  city 
Where  the  Prince  of  Peace  forever  reigneth. 
Dark  are  the  portals  of  death  ;  beyond  them  is 
brightness  eternal. 


222  SALOME. 

They  who   have    passed  them  are  washed  and 

clothed  in  glories  unfading. 
Death    is    the    messenger    sent  to  make  of  the 

mortal  the  immortal,  — 
To  lead  from  without    the  lost  children  within 

to  the  halls  of  their  Father. 

A  VOICE  above. 

What  are  these  arrayed  in  shining  raiment? 

CHORUS  above,  many  voices. 

These  are  they  which  came  from  mighty  tribu 
lation, 

And  have  washed  their  robes  and  made  them 
white  and  spotless 

In  the  blood  of  Christ,  the  slain  Lamb,  their 
Redeemer. 

No  more  shall  they  hunger,  never  more  be  thirsty  ; 

Nor  the  sun  shall  fall,  nor  any  heat,  upon  them  : 

From  their  eyes,  by  Him,  shall  every  tear  be 
wiped. 


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